


Dragonflies

by EyesOfEnigma



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Awkwardness, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Haphephobia, Mentions of Racism, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reader Has A Name, Reader Is Not Frisk, Romance, Social Anxiety, Written in third person, it's quite fluffy, not really angst but i guess it could be, oc is on the autistic spectrum sort of?, original character more than a reader, sans is a punny nerd, she's an artist, some swearing happens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-02-20 01:40:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13136478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EyesOfEnigma/pseuds/EyesOfEnigma
Summary: A graffiti street artist with a different way of looking at the world meets a nerdy, punny skeleton and his friends from the Underground.It's as simple as that.Yeah, but, feelings happen.  Annoying motherFers, feelings are.





	1. The Stranger in the Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo. 
> 
> Just sit back and enjoy. I have quite a bit on paper already, so updates will happen quickly enough until I finish the notes I've made. Honestly, this was just for fun. After the notes, it ends semi-ambiguously, but I plan on expanding after that. Eventually.
> 
> Meanwhile, I hope you find this as fun and careless as I have. I was planning on this being a Sans x Reader thing, but it felt weird for me to write in second person or first person because of the narrative it takes, so I opted for an OC. I mean, most Reader fics are kinda OCs anyway, so . . . hopefully this still works.
> 
> K I'm done talking you can read now.

_Four years after the seal was broken._

 

 

"SANS! HURRY UP, LAZYBONES!"

 

"'m comin', 'm comin'."  The stocky skeleton skipped out onto the lamp-lit street, zipping up his puffy blue jacket over a thin white sweater against the November chill.  A huff of white vapour passed through his teeth as he locked the door behind him.  Skinny white legs in black track pants trotted surprisingly swiftly for someone whose bony butt was always glued to the sofa, but he caught up with his brother, eye lights bright with amusement.

 

Sans' grin was wide and high as he glanced up to his towering sibling.  "it's not my fault your legs are so long.  sorry i don't _measure_ up to your standards.”

 

Papyrus’ eye sockets narrowed with feigned irritation, or maybe a cringe.  Sans couldn’t tell.  “Brother, PLEASE NO more PUNS!  Undyne and Alphys invited us to drink with them and have a good time, so don’t ruin it.”

 

“you just can’t accept that shorties like me are more _down to earth_.”

 

“Sans, you’re not even as short as some of the humans I’ve seen!” Papyrus huffs loudly, dramatically swinging his arms as he marched on at a quick pace.

 

As they rounded a corner, a young human woman jumped with surprise while coming opposite to them.  Eyes wide and darting, her figure rigid with slight shock, she sputtered an apology and scurried around them.  Sans took a side-step just behind Papyrus to give her more room, winking quickly to put her at ease.

 

“OH!  My apologies, human lady!  Please excuse us.  I hope we didn’t scare you.”

 

She simply nodded and cracked a nervous smile, muttering that she was just fine, and carried on her way past them.  The corners of Sans’ smile dropped ever so slightly as his gaze flickered towards a middle-aged couple ahead some distance.  They had crossed the street to the mirroring sidewalk before passing in the same direction as the woman.

 

Papyrus hadn’t noticed.  _Perhaps it should stay that way_ , Sans decided.

 

“Sans, what’s with that face?” He squinted again.  “Don’t check out random girls on the street.”

 

The older brother barked out a laugh.  “i mentioned once that the store clerk was cute and now you think i’m hitting on anything that moves?” His grin was stretched out to its limits again.  They were just approaching the front of new Grillby’s, the large cursive neon sign bathing the frosted sidewalk in a friendly, soft red-orange light.  “maybe—”

 

Sans’ comeback was cut short as his eye lights caught a silhouette in the wide alley between Grillby’s and a closed bookstore.  Despite the pleasant background music and calm chatter enticing him from inside his favourite pub, he heard the odd, suspicious sounds from the shadowed side street clearly.  It was light enough to see what they were doing, but not what they looked like.

 

_Ticka-ticka-ticka._

_Psssssh, pssh._

_Pssssssssh._

 

 _Oh, no you don’t_ , San thought quickly, twisting out of his path to confront the source.  Papyrus had his gloved hand on the doorknob and was ducking his head in before ceasing to chase after his sibling. 

 

“Sans, what’s wrong?”

 

 _What will they be writing?_ Sans wondered.  _‘Flithly undergrounders’.  ‘Monnies’. Maybe a lovely picture?_   His eye lights disappeared briefly at the thought.

 

“hey, kid,” Sans called out, a dangerous taunting to his tone.  The vandal’s progress halted at his voice, the ground scraping gently against their converse shoes as they shifted to face him.  “you better not be doing anything you’ll regret.  this place is owned by a very close friend of mine.  he’s a little . . . hot-tempered when it comes to people touchin’ his shit.”

 

The vandal didn’t make any moves to run.  Didn’t try to fight, either.  The can of spray paint they had in hand was tossed into a duffel bag with those of its kind, the distinct clank echoing down the alley.  A hand shoved into a hoodie pocket and flicked out a small piece of cardstock.

 

Sans blinked.

 

Papyrus blinked.

 

Then Sans took the card and handed it to Papyrus.

 

_Charlotte Alves.  Professional Street Artist.  Environmentally-friendly graffiti.  For details about commissions, go to www.charlottealvesgraffiti.com._

“Turns out your close friend gave me permission to touch his shit,” a quiet, almost muttering voice replied.  They grabbed their duffel bag and slung it around their shoulder, stepping out into the street.  “I should probably stop.  Even with a light to help, the colours start to get weird.”

 

Sans scratched the back of his skull with an awkward smile.  She was barely taller than him, olive-skinned, and had the most freckles he had ever seen on a person.  Like, she had _freckles._ A couple of short, dark brown, wavy ringlets poked out from under her bright blue slouchy hat and into amber eyes.  “sorry about that.  guess i got the wrong _ink_ pression.”

 

The artist split a very small grin, her expression regarding the joke with respectful amusement.  “It’s fine, I understand why you’d be suspicious.”

 

“EXCUSE ME, HUMAN,” Papyrus butt in, “What is a street artist?!”  Sans chuckled slightly as he heard the genuine intrigue from his brother.

 

This Charlotte person didn’t even miss a beat.  “I use graffiti spray paint to make public art on city walls.  With the owner’s permission, of course.  Your friend Grillby asked me to cover up the stupid vandalism.”

 

“WOWIE!! That’s SUPER cool!  I wish I had a job like that!” Papyrus was practically gleaming at her.

 

Charlotte shrugged.  “It’s just a side thing.  I have a full-time job in something else.” Boisterous laughter erupted from Grillby’s, and Sans heard Undyne’s distinct cackling.  After a smirked pause, the artist continued.  “If you come back in a couple days, the wall will be done.  I can show you the finished product.”

 

“OH! Sans, don’t you think that would be fun?” Papyrus exclaimed.  “I would LOVE to see your art, human!  THE GREAT PAPYRUS will see you again soon, but for now, we have friends waiting, so we will see you later! Goodbye, human!  NYEH!”

 

He practically dragged Sans into the pub.  The shorter skeleton chuckled again as he gave a short salute-farewell to the odd artist on the sidewalk.  His eye lights dilated a bit and he felt the warmth of his magic creep into his cheeks as she challenged his informally grinning expression with her own small intelligent smile.  He wanted to make a pun, but was coming up blank.  Instead, he winked.

 

She winked back, almost as if she was expecting it, and the door was closed on his view of her.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Charlotte made a clicking sound with her tongue as the sky turned that twilight blue that made everything darker before she realized it.  She stepped back to view her work and a warmth of pride spread in her chest as the composition was finally coming together.  Another couple of hours of detail work, and it would be done.  She could only hope that it wouldn’t be painted over with ugly slurs.  It was uncommon for professional murals to be disrupted, but there were always exceptions for scummy, disrespectful people.

 

The artist frowned at the memory of her client’s discouraged expression when he asked her to make his walls a bit prettier.  She was happy to help the quiet fire elemental, and once she had seen the wall in question, it only encouraged her more to make a beautiful piece.  Grillby had given her complete creative freedom—he was unusually trusting, but perhaps he could sense that she meant no harm.  But she knew what it was like to be bullied.  Harassed, even.

 

The faint swinging music from inside the building temporarily pulled her into a thoughtful trance before a few footsteps on the street snapped her to attention.  _Alright, one more outline, and then I’ll call it a night_ , she decided.  Part of her wished she had brought her small stage light to keep working, but the colours would probably still be wrong.  She snatched the white can from her duffel bag and the small dragonfly stencil she had made the week before.

 

_Ticka-ticka-ticka._

_Psssssh.  Pssh._

_Psssssssh._

 

She stopped and peeled the stencil away from the smooth stone wall at the sound of a goofy tenor voice.  “Sans, what’s wrong?”

 

The artist didn’t have time to have a look at what was happening.  She glanced down the alley to the front of the pub and nearly jumped out of her skin from the glare she was getting.  The monster was maybe an inch shorter than her, the fluffy white collar of his blue jacket framing a smooth round skull.  The white glowing lights in his eye sockets were small and securely fixed on her.  Despite his casual demeanor, hands in pockets and weight on one bony leg, there was a tension in the air that told her he was very much not okay with what she was doing.

 

“hey, kid,” he said lowly, the timbre in his voice a dangerous taunt.

 

 _Beg your pardon_ , Charlotte snapped in her head. _I am not a child, and I have the hips to prove it._  She turned to face him, her feet moving heavily with the weight of her annoyance.

 

“you better not be doin’ anythin’ you’ll regret,” the monster continued his sockets growing completely dark, but his fake grin plastered wide on his face.  With the red-orange light from Grillby’s sign glowing against his white skull, it was quite an eerie look.  “this place is owned by a very close friend of mine.  he’s a little . . . hot-tempered when it comes to people touching his shit.”

 

Charlotte was somewhat mesmerized by the way he spoke.  His jaw moved up and down, and the edges of his mouth articulated the sound like flesh lips would, but his mouth never opened entirely, the large straight teeth fixed like a barrier.  Even so, his words came out as anyone else’s would.  _Wait, did he make a joke about Grillby being ‘hot-tempered’?_   At a time like this.  Okay, she could see where this was going.  Letting out a small sigh, the white spray can hit the duffel bag with its sisters and she shoved a hand in her pocket, holding out its content to him quickly.

 

The monster’s eye lights returned to flick them across the small card.  His smile dropped slightly with realization and he blinked with near disbelief.  A second, enormously tall and lanky skeleton with a longer-shaped skull, stepped closer from around the corner to stoop and read the card next to his companion.  Charlotte was amused by his child-like expression and his super-hero-esque red-orange outfit.

 

The shorter skeleton took the card from her fingers and then handed it to his tall friend.  Perhaps a relative?  He looked slightly embarrassed.

 

“Turns out your friend gave me permission to touch his shit,” Charlotte breathed quietly, snatching up her duffel bag and stepping out into the pub’s front light.  They pivoted to follow her movement.  “I should probably stop.  Even with a light the colours start to get weird.”

 

The blue-clad skeleton lifted a hand to scratch the back of his skull with an uncomfortable but persistent grin (did he even get itchy?).  Charlotte noticed that the bones in his hand were thicker than a human’s, almost fused together where they made up his palm and wrist.  How interesting.  She quelled her curiosity to avoid staring.  His towering companion was still studying her business card, flipping it over a few times like he expected it to hold a secret.  When her gaze returned to the former, she almost frowned as his eye lights moved all around her face.  She didn’t believe in covering her freckles up with makeup like many other young women would have, but it did irk her on occasion when people stared at her heavy spots for longer than necessary.

 

“sorry about that,” he said lightly, breaking her out of her thoughts.  “guess I got the wrong _ink_ pression.”

 

Charlotte couldn’t help but let the corners of her small mouth curl up at the pun.  “It’s fine, I understand why you’d be suspicious.”

 

“EXCUSE ME, HUMAN,” the taller skeleton interrupted.  His eye lights were still analyzing the card.  “What is a street artist?!”

 

His companion chuckled at the excitement in his tone.

 

She was quick to jump explanation.  “I use graffiti spray paint to make public art on city walls.  With the owner’s permission, of course.  Your friend Grillby asked me to cover up the stupid vandalism.”

 

“WOWIE!! That’s SUPER cool!  I wish I had a job like that!” he cried happily, almost giddy by the idea.  His smile was almost as wide as the monster in the blue jacket, but she noticed that his teeth separated to form words. 

 

She smirked a bit more at his enthusiasm and shrugged.  “It’s just a side thing.  I have a full-time job in something else.”  Rippling laughter poured out of the pub, one voice rising above the others in a joyous, almost devious cackle.  Charlotte wished for a small moment that she had seen what happened in there.  “If you come back in a couple days, the wall will be done.  I can show you the finished product.”

 

The tall skeleton lit up even more, shoving her business card in his pocket to clap his hands together in glee.  “OH! Sans, don’t you think that will be fun?” he shouted.  “I would LOVE to see your art, human!  THE GREAT PAPYRUS will see you again soon, but for now we have friends waiting, so we will se you later.  Goodbye, human! NYEH!”

 

He latched a hand onto his friend’s blue and fluffy hood, dragging him along gently inside.  Charlotte stepped out of their way, almost letting out a soft chuckle as the shorter skeleton gave her a salute-wave farewell.  He looked like he wanted to say something, but a glowing blue hue barely crept into his cheekbones, so minimally that she hardly noticed.  Instead, he winked at her.

 

 _Sure, buddy_ , she thought.  _I’ll play._   She winked in return before he disappeared into the pub.

 

_Those two must be related._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo.
> 
> More to come ;)


	2. The Wall Outside the Pub

Sans hummed a fast-paced tune quietly to himself as he unlocked the front door from the inside.  _Better to do it now_ , right after teleporting into the foyer from his lunch shift at work, before plopping onto the couch rather than having to get up when Alphys came over.  She was supposed to drop off a new computer for Papyrus, and he wasn’t coming home till after four.  He plotted over to the fridge and peeked inside.  Nothing but containers of spaghetti.  _Time for groceries again._

_Eh, tomorrow._

 

The stocky skeleton poured himself a cup of milk and downed it swiftly, setting the empty glass beside the pristine sink.  The shiny black-and-silver business card Papyrus had stashed away was now held up by a magnet on the fridge, along with a note.

 

_‘SANS! I called the street artist human, and she said she will be done the wall by 4:00 pm! I am going to meet her there after teaching with Undyne at work! YOU BETTER BE THERE AND DON’T SCARE HER AWAY WITH PUNS. –PAPYRUS’_

Sans grinned at the message, eyes half-lidded.  He supposed he would be there if Pap wanted it so badly.

 

His phone dinged.

 

Ally the Alligator – 3:04 pm

                _Omw. 20 mins, probs._

 

You – 3:05 pm

                _cool. door’s unlocked_

 

 _Should be enough time for Alphys to set up and I can lock up the house,_ he thought.  He sighed with tired relief as his bony butt hit the couch cushions.  Considering reaching for the remote, he was distracted thoughts of that strange artist.  She was oddly just okay with inviting them to come back and see her work.  Humans were usually polite, usually—but this one was going out of her way to wait around for them when they could just go see the wall the next time they went to Grillby’s.

 

Either she’s genuinely friendly like that, or she wants something.  Probably the latter, Sans thought, but he wasn’t sure why.  Still, the way she looked at him, with an understanding and intelligence like she knew what he was thinking or feeling, made him wish there was no devious intent.  For Papyrus’ sake, he hoped.  Poor guy was so happy about seeing this artist again.

 

Good _lord_ , that girl had spots.  He’d never seen a human so freckled.  He wondered where her parents were from to give her such a feature.  Or maybe it was a mutation?  And humans think monsters are magical and complicated.  He grinned at the thought of trying to map out constellations on her face once he went over to Grillby’s to meet up with Pap.

 

The sticky cold sound of the door breaking away from its seal startled him out of his daze.  The distinct efforted huffs of Alphys made him sit up and grin at her arrival, large cardboard box in her scaly vermillion claws.  After pushing the chill out with the door using her muscled tail, her nervous face poked from behind the box.

 

“H-hey there, S-Sans!  Mind g-giving me a h-hand?”

 

He sunk deeper into the cushions.  “ah geez, alphie.  i just got home from work.  i’m _bone ti_ —”

 

“D-don’t say it!” she cried, doing her best to gently place the heavy box on the foyer floor, shooting him a glare.  There was amusement in her voice though, he could tell.  “You p-probably napped 82% of-f the t-time anyway.”

 

Sans glanced away with a mischievous smile.  “heh. you caught me bone-handed.”  His eye smoked with glowing cyan and the box zipped up the staircase and out of sight.  “better?”

 

“M-much,” Alphys gasped.  “Thanks.  I knew P-Papyrus would want all the bells and wh-whistles, but it’s k-kinda exhausting.”

 

Sans pulled out his phone quickly as Alphys headed to the stairs. 3:32. Should be enough time to lock up.  Turns out Alphys was even faster that he thought, because within ten minutes the new computer was booted up and doing a graphics performance test.  Maybe working for that think tank was keeping her limber.

 

“thanks for this, alphie,” Sans told her as she passed back through the door and he grabbed his jacket.

 

“I-it’s no p-problem. W-what are f-friends for, huh?”  She pulled out her keys and blinked at him.  “You’re heading out too?”

 

“meeting pap at grillby’s,” he returned. “i’ll let him know what a good job you did.”

 

Alphys blushed heavily.  “Th-thank you!! H-have a g-good t-time!”

 

They waved their goodbyes and she drove off, leaving Sans to his own thoughts again.  3:46 _. I’ll be early.  Meh._

 

A blink later, he was gone.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

                _She doesn’t know she’s beautiful_

_‘Cause all she ever hears_

_Is your insecure loud mouth_

_Feeding off her fears . . ._

Charlotte tapped her right shoe against the asphalt of the alleyway, bobbing and mouthing to the big comfy headphones around her ears as she stared at the wall, weight on one hip and the blue spray can in her hand.  She was absent-mindedly shaking the can to the beat through the song and into the next that queued up on her playlist.

 

                _I bleed it out, take it deeper, just to throw it away . . ._

 

She stepped closer to add a quick line of lowlight, then returned to her spot.  Sighing, she turned on her heel to exchange for a different can in her duffel bag only to stop dead at the sight of the blue jacketed skeleton standing almost directly behind her.  Charlotte brushed off the shock to avoid being rude, but he didn’t seem to notice her surprise.  He was staring whole-heartedly at her artwork.  Heat flooded to her face in embarrassment and she twisted around again to face the same as him.

 

Her style was a bit different from others, avoiding hard outlines for swirling bunches of colour and sweeping, bending shapes.  The wall was covered in dark blues, blacks, and indigos, the occasional streak of red and green billowing into the nebulous night sky.  Earthy grass bordered the bottom with the sparse stenciled pattern of a black cricket, and two hands stretched up to touch the white-and-gold-yellow stars.  The hand on the left was human, and the one on the right, a feathered monster with talon fingers.  Dancing happily were small stenciled dragonflies, the same hue as the stars, flying and landing on blades of grass and fingertips.  It was somewhat abstract or fantastical in style, but it _felt_ real.

 

“What do you think?” Charlotte asked him quietly, pulling off her head phones to rest around her neck and pretending to be confident about her question.  No matter how many of these she did, reception was always nerve-wracking.  You can’t please everyone.  “I still think something is missing,” she muttered under her breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear it slip out of her mouth.

 

“this is amazing, kid,” he returned, not tearing his wide eye lights away.  She even added accurate constellations.

 

She turned to look at him, and he finally made eye contact.  Her slouchy hat was black this time, with a red-outlined cartoon skull on the band.  _Was that on purpose?_   Her face was lit up with a tiny pleased grin almost as if she was afraid to show much emotion.  Even the way she spoke was soft and nearly monotone. “I appreciate it.”

 

His grin was dropped with his astonishment, she noticed, though his teeth still showed through the small “o” of his bone lips(?).  The expression was quite adorable, she allowed.  Suddenly his humour returned, and that toothy smile spread out again. 

 

“you’ve got a real talent, kid.  remember me when you become a _star_ ,” he mused with a wink for emphasis.

 

Charlotte raised an eyebrow.  _Again?  Okay, I’ll still play._ She made a dramatic and somewhat awkward gesture with her hand. “Yes, it’s quite _sans_ antional, isn’t it?”

 

He snickered lightly.  “papyrus told you about me over the phone, huh?”

 

She shrugged as her eyes wandered back to the wall restlessly.  “Your name, warned me about puns, called you a ‘lazybones’ for probably not meeting him on time today.”

 

“well, _joke’s_ on him. i’m early.” Sans huffed, feigning offense.

 

“Yes, I must be extra special, hm?” Charlotte returned softly, that look of intelligence and humour on her spotted face again.  Another short, wavy dark curl fell out from her hat and into her eyes as she habitually tugged on the bottom of her Star Wars rebel-symbol hoodie, a puff of cold vapour escaping her small mouth.

 

Sans forced himself to look at the wall again. _No, stop that, brain_. He almost smiled at the internal pun, despite his thoughts.  “i think it’s just fine the way it is.  not too cluttered or busy, but interesting.”

 

Charlotte waited for him to make a joke, but none came.  Gaze bouncing between the wall and him, she shot him a small, happy smile.  “That’s . . . exactly what I needed to hear, thank you.”

 

Snatching up a stencil from the pile beside the duffel bag and the white can, she quickly finished with a fast spray on the left corner, leaving behind a crisp and stylized ‘ALVES’.

 

Just as Charlotte was cleaning up her things, Sans whipped his head around at the sound of his brother’s voice.

 

“HERE, UNDYNE!  It’s just around this corner.  I’m SURE the artist human will be happy to meet you.”

 

Sans nearly barked out a laugh, failing to notice how Charlotte’s shoulders suddenly tensed.  Papyrus was so loud and unsubtle.  It was fantastic.  The red-clad skeleton appeared in the alley and nearly dropped his jaw.

 

“SANS!! You’re HERE! I thought for sure you’d be late.”

 

Sans grinned wolfishly and nodded at Undyne. “how are ya?”

 

The long and slender fish woman split a big and sharp smile.  “Not so bad.  Been keeping this guy in check,” she clapped a webbed hand on Papyrus’ padded shoulder.  “God, do I need a drink, though.”

 

“What’s that phrase humans say?” Papyrus exclaimed.  “TGIF?”

 

“That’s correct,” Charlotte butt in quietly to announce her presence in some way and zipping up her duffel bag.  “You’re just in time.  Sans was keeping me company while I finished.  And gave me some sound advice.” She cut past Papyrus to offer a hand to the former captain, no visible fear in her focused face and no long stares.  “You’re Undyne, right?  Charlotte Alves, nice to meet you.”

 

For being such a soft speaker, she certainly was bold.  Undyne seemed impressed, taking Charlotte’s paint-stained hand heartily.  Sans and Papyrus exchanged a surprised look.  He noticed a brief discomfort when they broke apart, but then the younger brother turned towards the wall, Undyne following the point of interest.

 

“Woah,” the fish monster muttered.

 

Sans glanced at Charlotte, who was watching their faces carefully to gage their reaction.  “heh, i know, right? _tibia_ -nest, i don’t think i’ve seen anything like it.”

 

For once, Papyrus ignored the joke.  “HUMAN . . . it’s BEAUTIFUL.”

 

“Not a lot of humans would have the guts to put monsters in stuff like this,” Undyne beamed.

 

“Grillby told me I could do whatever I wanted, so I did,” Charlotte replied so matter-of-factly.

 

Sans felt a warm twist as he heard the words.  _Goddammit, stop that._ He brushed off the feeling again. “i guess there were a lot of ugly things up there, huh?” There was an edge of defensive annoyance in his tone.

 

Charlotte just shrugged.  “Yeah, a few . . . mostly dick jokes, though.”  She almost seemed to shudder at the thought.  “I’m glad you guys like it.  I’m going to chat with Grillby inside, so, see ya later.  I guess. Give me a call if—”

 

“HUMAN, would you like to JOIN us for dinner inside?” Papyrus rushed happily.

 

Sans couldn’t help but smile wider at the thought, and Charlotte stifled a mirroring smirk. “that’s a good idea, pap. we were going to hang out for a bit anyway.”

 

“Not to mention drinking is always more the merrier!” Undyne added loudly.

 

Charlotte seemed quite surprised at their invitation.  “I’d . . . love to, thank you,” she muttered, face lax and amber eyes somewhat wide.

 

“C’mon, then!” Undyne forced, throwing an arm around the human’s considerably smaller frame and marching past the corner to go inside, calling for the ‘bone boys’ to get their butts in gear.  The artist seemed to be in high spirits about the idea, but shrugged out of Undyne’s touch with a rigid look of discomfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you get the music references. 
> 
>  


	3. Ketchup and Rye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for awkward flirting.

Charlotte was sure she had never been so overwhelmed, intrigued, and subsequently so quickly relaxed and at ease in her life.  Grillby’s was comfortably busy for a Friday evening, with a tall-stool bar, cushioned booths around the edges of the room and round tables of various sizes at the center.  Everything was warm in colour: the dark shiny wood, the soft lights, the reds and burgundy of the fabrics, and, well, Grillby himself tending the bar with a stoic and steady ember glow.  The food was simple but homely, the drinks both the human and monster variety.

 

Speaking of, it was mostly monsters in here.  A couple of groups of humans, but the magic in the air was thick and the colours and shapes delightfully diverse and lively.  Huddled in the corner of a booth, Charlotte made sure not to stare as to give away her undying interest, but nonetheless casually observed the culture as she nursed a lavender-coloured drink Undyne had given her.  It was sweet, but if the burn of booze was any indication, she knew it wasn’t meant to be consumed like candy.  Her face was feeling warmer and her inhibition relaxed, but she felt far from impaired.

 

Sans was sitting next to her, switching between his own drink and taking swigs from the ketchup bottle.  She almost laughed the first time, but decided it was rather endearing.  _Wait, endearing? Huh._  She pushed her back against the wall so to face out from the booth towards Sans, her legs drawn up in a cozy ball as she viewed the rest of the pub calmly.  Undyne and Papyrus were debating which routine would be best for their students on Monday mornings.  Charlotte loved the way the pub lights reflected off Undyne’s smooth and rippled scales, the shifting colours gleaming and teasing more depth of colour that slipped away just as quickly as it appeared.  Papyrus’ posture and expressions were wonderfully expressive and bold as his bright eye lights told the story of his own dialogue.

 

As her eyes fell on Sans, she pondered where the ketchup and rye went when it slipped past his clenched teeth.  Did he ever open his mouth?  What was he made of that his skull had the flexibility of expression even more subtle than his brother’s?  His white eye lights often betrayed an awareness beyond the lazy, sleepy oblivious older sibling.

 

She didn’t notice that he had looked up at her.

 

“take a picture, it lasts longer,” he teased with a smirk.

 

Charlotte didn’t bother to consider being embarrassed, it was too late for that now.  “Sorry, I spaced out,” she replied quickly, her voice barely audible above the low murmur of surrounding conversation.

 

“heh, i can tell, you’ve got stars in your eyes, kiddo.”  Sans took a moment to regard her seriously.  “whatchya thinkin’ about?”

 

“How to draw you,” she replied flatly, her gaze seeming to pierce through him as she studied his appearance, though her body was slumped in the booth in the most relaxed way.

 

He blinked, then let out a bark of rough laughter.  “what, this bag of bones?”

 

“I think about how to draw everyone.”  Still she answered like her mind was elsewhere, but her eyes remained in their intensity.

 

“so i’m not special?”  He looked smug.

 

Their conversation was so low-spoken that Undyne and Papyrus were uninterrupted from theirs.  Charlotte’s eyes flickered from his glass of rye back to his face with a starkness that sent a chill down his exposed spine despite the warm room and his jacket.  “I never said you weren’t special,” she returned, volleying his cocky, self-aware smile with her own dry and wry amusement.

 

“So, punk,” Undyne cut across, drawing the artist’s attention away from the sly skeleton.  “You do street art for a living, like, full time?”

 

“It’s more of a lucrative hobby,” Charlotte replied.  “Though, not lucrative enough to support me completely.  I went to college for chemistry lab technician stuff, so I have a pretty long-rung position working for a pharmaceutical company.  Pays decent, though, and I might climb up the ladder some day.”

 

“che _misery_ ,” Sans muttered smartly, earning him a kick under the table from someone on the other side.

 

“And what science is more suitable in your eyes?” Charlotte mused, though genuinely curious.

 

“astrophysics, cosmology, relativity, quanti—"

 

“UGH!  Sans, stop being such a nerd!” Undyne huffed.

 

He winked at her.  “come to the nerd side.  we have _pi_.”

 

The lean fish monster lifted out of her seat almost immediately.  “I need another drink.”

 

Charlotte let out a delighted giggle, so crisp and uncharacteristic of her (as far as Sans knew) that he glanced back at her to capture and expressive smile for once, but he had just missed it.  She was back to her small pleased contentment as her arms wrapped around black-jeaned knees.

 

“Human,” Papyrus began, but she didn’t leave him time.

 

“You can use my name if you like.”

 

Papyrus opened his jaw to comply and continue, but stopped again.  “I am sorry, human, I feel strange calling you Charlotte.”

 

She quirked an eyebrow at him.  “Why?”

 

His eye lights slid to the side in a small squint.  “For me, it does not fit you.  Or, perhaps it does not sound right with my voice.”

 

She gave a quick thoughtful blink.  “Call me . . . Charlie, then.  How’s that sound for you?”

 

Sans couldn’t help but grin at her willingness to run with Papyrus’ unorthodox behaviour.

 

“I LIKE THAT VERY MUCH, CHARLIE!” the younger brother beamed.

 

“I’m glad,” she returned softly, a sweet curve on her lips as she regarded him.  Sans noticed how the warm lights and lingering soft shadows of the room made her complexion slightly darker.  This was odd.  She stared at monsters, avoided Undyne’s touch earlier, even seemed condescending at times.  But the way she talked about adding monsters in her art, wanting to draw him, laughing with Undyne, showing kindness to Papyrus, respecting Grillby—this didn’t line up.  What confused him even more was everything in the latter category was admirable, and, combined with her quiet demeanor and smartass expressions, was quite magnetic, even.  There was something off, and it only encouraged him to continue being cautious of new ‘friends’.  Especially humans.

 

“Take a picture, it lasts longer,” she called softly, moving her foot to poke him in the femur, breaking him out of his thoughts.  Oh, he was staring at her.  Wait, she poked him on her own accord, and that’s a very relaxed position.  _Maybe not so scared of us after all._

 

“spaced out,” he grinned, taking a sip of ketchup.

 

She rolled her eyes briefly, puffing air upwards to push a curl aside on her brow.  “You _did_ say I have stars in my eyes.”

 

Before he could respond, Undyne returned to sink back into her seat and downed the sunrise-looking drink in one gulp.  “Ah, better.  What did I miss?”

 

“The human says we can call her Charlie,” Papyrus announced eagerly.

 

“I mean, if you want to,” Charlotte added quickly.  “It’s not like it’s fewer syllables or anything.”

 

“NO, I think it suits you VERY WELL!  Especially for your tomboyish appearance.”

 

Sans and Undyne winced at the same time.  The younger skeleton brother had a habit of putting his foot in his mouth.  Surprisingly, Charlotte simply smiled like an older sister at a silly toddler.  Sans caught himself before staring for too long.

 

Grillby took the moment of peace to glide over to their table as a few customers left for the night.  The artist straightened a bit in her balled position to watch him approach.  His voice was low and a bit rough, but gentle.

 

“I had a chance to look at the wall out back,” he said, his flaming head crackling and dancing slightly.  Though smiles were unlikely to be formed by him, there was a distinct approval in his eyes and tone.  “I love it.  I’ll mail the cheque to you tomorrow morning.”

 

For a very swift second, Sans captured the look of pure elation on Charlotte’s face as she received the news.  It was innocent, child-like, and almost beautiful as she realized Grillby’s respect and appreciation of her work.  Then, in a heartbeat, she was back to her quiet, almost stoic state.

 

“I’m just glad you like it,” she returned.

 

Grillby gave a short nod and returned to his work.

 

Undyne grinned as Charlotte finished the last of her drink.  “Another, punk?”

 

“Thank you, but no.”  Her face was a bit flushed.  “I’m happy with a buzz.  In fact,” she glanced at her phone briefly, “I think I should get home.  I have another client waiting for me bright and early tomorrow.”  She scooted a bit and nudged Sans playfully to get out of the booth.  He had to admit, it was quite cute to see her shift closer with her knees up to her chin, a teasing hint in her gaze.  _Ugh, stop it._

 

“you want a walk home?” Sans asked politely, then gave her a wink after glancing at Papyrus, who seemed to squint with suspicion at him. “i know a short cut.”

 

Charlotte straightened herself out and grabbed her duffel bag, looking at the stocky skeleton straight in the eye socket.  He was just bones, and his white t-shirt clung to his collar bones and ribcage loosely as expected, but something about him gave her the impression of a roly-poly friendly jokester. “Ah . . . what the hell,” she decided.  “I’ll admit a morbid curiosity to this ‘short cut’. You know Maple Lane?”

 

“sure do.  and don’t worry, after this, I’ll _leaf_ you alone.”

 

“SANS! Papyrus cried, causing a guffaw from Undyne.

 

The older brother ignored him and offered a hand to Charlotte.  He was careful not to just go ahead and grab it like he normally would with people, instead waiting for her to come to him.  She visibly hesitated, and he didn’t think it was from the strange circumstances, but eventually accepted.  Her hand was so warm and her skin soft albeit paint-covered, yet visibly tense.

 

Charlotte tried to focus on the texture of the cool-but-clearly-alive joint and plates of his grip.  _Wait, why do I have to hold his hand?  Are his eyes gone? Ah, he’s squeezing!_

 

“don’t let go.”

 

Reflexively she clutched, her face becoming tight with sudden awareness.

 

In a blink, they were gone.

 

Undyne turned to Papyrus and propped up her head on her hand.  “Oh, he’s _into_ her.”

 

“I TOLD HIM TO STOP FLIRTING WITH STRANGERS.”

 

“But she’s not a stranger, is she?” Undyne returned smugly.  “Not anymore.”

 

“She DID say I could call her by a NICKNAME,” Papyrus agreed, nodding with pride and excitement at the idea.  “I STILL need to give her my FRIENDSHIP SPAGHETTI, though.”

 

Undyne cackled and slapped him on the shoulder.  “I’m sure Sans won’t mind.”

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

_It was cold.  And dark.  And empty._

_Was it seconds?_

_Was it minutes?_

_Was it centuries?_

_But it was peaceful.  Thoughtless, yet thoughtful._

 

And then she was staring down her street, old maple trees naked and quietly protesting from the gentle November breeze.  The sidewalks were bathed in a burnt yellow street lamp light, the occasional muffled dog bark or child’s cry piercing the dark evening silence.

 

Charlotte stepped forward and immediately halted and keeled slightly.  Her feet managed to catch, but just barely, prompting the hard but gentle and steadying grip on her clothes by her escort.

 

“woah!  easy, kid,” Sans’ low voice breathed.

 

She straightened and side-stepped out of the contact almost as quickly as she had stumbled, pulling at the edge of her sweater repeatedly. “Sorry, headrush.”  She completely avoided his gaze.

 

Sans desperately tried to break the tension, his tone tight with awkwardness.  “i knew i was suave, but i didn’t think you’d be falling for me so soon,” he mused with a wolfish grin.

 

She shot him a sly smirk, taking the opportunity to forget what just happened.  “Careful, you might trip from jumping to that conclusion.”

 

“i hope not,” he tacked on, though it was quiet enough that she didn’t hear.

 

“Thanks for this,” she sighed, sounding tired but grateful.  “I have no idea what the hell just happened, but shit does it make me want to paint.”

 

“glad i’m such an inspiration,” Sans chuckled.  She was back to monotonous intelligence, which reassured him immensely.

 

“Well, you have my card,” she added casually, heading up the street.  “Let me know if you have the chance to talk about monster and magic stuff.  Anything is great material for future projects.”

 

_Oh.  That’s what she wants.  Well of course._

 

“And, y’know, you can talk about yourself, too,” she didn’t look back at him as she spoke.  “I did say I wanted to draw you.  Have to get to know you if I want to get it right.”  She waved a hand behind her.  “See ya around, bone boy.”

 

He wanted a snappy comeback.  _Blank._   Just lingering on the image of her strolling down to her apartment.

 

_Maybe Pap will want her over for spaghetti._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sans gets his licks in, but I personally think he'd be much more awkward and dorky at flirting than most people perceive.


	4. Shaded-out Faces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how weirdos make friends. 
> 
> One inserts themselves into the other's life without realizing it and ignoring how strange it is, and the other simply plays along because they don't know that it's odd. This is how it works, right?

Sans stared at the number on his phone.  The faucet in the kitchen dripped.  He shifted his pelvis on the couch for the tenth time.  Distal phalange hovering above the green “call” button, he focused down against the rising anxiety.  _Just press it.  Pap wants her over for spaghetti anyway.  Just do it._

 

He did.

 

One ring.

 

Two.

 

Three.  _Will she pick up?  Maybe busy –_

 

“Charlotte Alves, what can I do you for?” she answered swiftly, her calm tone sliding out of his phone’s speakers.

 

_Shit._

 

He hung up.

 

And then he sighed, mentally scorning himself.  This was ridiculous, getting so worked up over a human.  He was Sans, the lazy, punny, older brother.  The chill, don’t-give-two-fucks monster.  A powerful time guardian.  Take the wrong step and   **y o u ‘ r e   d e a d .**

 

She was an artist.  Kind, clever, creative.  She saw things differently, he knew it.  He wanted to know more.  Even if they just ended up being friends, it would be worth it.  Just to understand how she felt the world, how she saw that swirling life her work depicted.  He had spent an hour with Pap on her website to see the other murals and commissions she had done.  Turns out she was also an accomplished painter and sketch artist.

 

_Gotta get to know you if I want to get it right._

 

Was she just looking for more material, or was it a genuine invitation?  It still felt off that she didn’t want them touching her at all.  He saw her face before they teleported.  She was afraid of touching him.

 

“SANS!  Are you ready to go?” Papyrus beamed, practically skipping over to the foyer.

 

The older skeleton broke out of his trance to flash a pretty white grin at his sibling.  “for toriel’s pie, anything.”  Hopping off the couch and throwing his jacket on, he gave a final glance to his call history before shoving the device in his pocket.

 

Once outside and walking in the cold silence for a piece of time, Papyrus gave a side-ways look of suspicion to his brother.

 

“Sans, you’ve barely made any puns for the past couple days.  Not that I’m not grateful, but it’s strange.”

 

“oh? guess i’ve just been too bone-tired to bother,” he rebutted.

 

“Undyne was RIGHT!” Papyrus suddenly shouted.

 

“’bout what?” Sans asked, his smile dropping slightly.

 

“This is about CHARLIE.  I wanted to ask her over for my FABULOUS SPAGHETTI anyway, but it’s pretty clear you can’t go on without her, so I definitely WILL help you with this conundrum, brother!”  He had stopped now, bowed almost in half to challenge Sans face-to-face.

 

“heh.  she’s nice and all, but no need to bend over backwards for me, bro.”  He tactfully decided not to mention that he almost invited her himself.  

 

“HRM,” Papyrus muttered, though Sans expected that he was not conceding defeat.  For now, they were in for a calm evening of Toriel’s wonderful cooking and the kid’s goofy company.

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

Charlotte pulled on her dark blue converse kicks and tucked her thick short curl behind a green slouchy hat with an Irish knot tree symbol on the top.  It was one of her favourites, from her mother on her last birthday.  That with the silver corsage orchid necklace her father gave her, and she felt one step closer to the countries of her origin that she would likely never see.

 

One glancing scan of her small but cozy flat and she was out the door, duffel bag in hand.  It took some time to awkwardly make her way down the narrow steep stairwell from the attic floor to the bottom of the old brick town house.  It was a bit balmier today, but the air was still crisp and clear.  Another early morning for this job, but she was determined to finish the base colours and work a bit on the outline by the end of the day.  It was the only thing besides her real job that she would get up before 9 am for.  Although, even 9 was very early for some.

 

Tossing her keys up in the air once or twice, she pondered the sense of slight loneliness welling in her chest.  Sure, she had a few friends from college still, her nicer colleagues at work, her clients, and her sweet lazy cat.  There was no one she could truly share her thoughts and work with.  Even, her life with.  She smiled grimly to herself.  _For someone like me, it’s a wonder that I want some affection._

 

The shuffle of fuzzy pink slippers on the dry sidewalk brought her attention to the familiar grinning round face of Sans.  Now that she thought of it, he very much reminded her of her cat.

 

She let out a breathy soft laugh and resisted the urge to mirror such a wide smile, but the squint around her amber eyes was distinct.  “And what brings you here, bone boy?”  The way she popped her hip out against the large bag, the puffy long sweater hugging her torso made Sans grin just barely more.  Her freckles were the most obvious in this light, and he enjoyed the delicate patterns.

 

“what can I say?” he offered, not even lifting his hands out of his pockets to shrug.  “i’ve always wanted my portrait done.”

 

She rolled her eyes but was clearly enjoying his attempt at . . . flirting, she supposed?  “I told you I would have to get to know you first.”

 

“i know,” he returned, less teasing in his voice this time.

 

Charlotte felt her brows raise at the idea.  Was he for real?  Behind that coy smile, perhaps there was someone looking for some company as much as she was.  _Ah, well, what the hell._   “Good.  Now, you’ll have to walk with me, I’m working on another mural.”

 

◊ ◊ ◊

 

_Ticka-ticka-ticka._

_Shh.  Tsshh._

 

“So, why were you waiting outside for me?  Kinda creepy,” Charlotte inquired, not turning her head away from the plaster wall facing towards a skating park.  Children and youth were beginning to gather for tricks and practice on rollerblades, skateboards, and longboards.  Graffiti was on every wall, it was part of the culture and aesthetic, but her client was determined to make things a bit more . . . cultured.

 

“taking a risk,” Sans replied, flipping through her sketch book.  He looked up to see a cute orange striped kid monster scuttle around in a helmet and rollerblades.  Charlotte’s sketches were of surprisingly regular things: people, birds, streets, common objects.  Some were very photorealistic, and others were in the more fantastical style he was familiar with in her work.  She never drew a person’s face, though.  They were always shaded out vaguely.  “hope i didn’t freak you out.”

 

“Not at all, I’m . . . flattered?” Charlotte replied quickly, turning to exchange a paint can and looking somewhat confused with herself.  It was almost as if she couldn’t find the right word for what she was feeling.  “Besides, you were pretty spooky the first time we met.  I’m used to it, I think.”  She had that amused, wry look in her eyes again as she stooped to grab the paint, her eyes striking as she grabbed his gaze.

 

“spooky, scary skeleton, huh?” he grinned.

 

She snapped a finger at him.  “That is a very good song.”

 

Sans’ eye lights slid to the side shyly.  “yeah, papyrus found it within minutes of discovering youtube.”

 

A musical giggle escaped Charlotte quickly, and although he just missed the accompanying expression, there was a gleam of joy.  He continued to flip through the sketchbook and halted at a page riddled with various doodles.  Some were full-figured, others were only of heads or waist-ups.  They were all of Undyne.  One was of her standing confidently, another of her at the booth table at Grillby’s, a glass up to her lips.  Yet another was of her talking, laughing.  Though they were rough, her expressions were perfect.

 

“you drew her face,” Sans noted aloud.

 

Charlotte paced over and peaked at the page.  “Oh . . . yeah I only draw them if I know them.”

 

“but you don’t know undyne all that well,” Sans replied, more a question than a statement.

 

“There’s only one page,” she said flatly, though without offense, and returned to her task at hand.  “Keep going.”

 

He did.  The next page was filled with scratchy depictions of his brother.  He loved the excited and suspicious ones the best.  The next page flipped.

 

It was him.  Both pages were filled instead of just the one.  Tiny heads, shoulders-up, half body, full body.  His grin, his eye sockets scrunched up in laughter, a quizzical wide-eyed face, and a saddened, dampened smile.  One was of his dark anger when they first met, making him wince at the unfortunate first impression.  The full body was of him standing casually, hands in pockets, winking cheekily.  And another—wait, when did he blush with her around?

 

She took a seat beside him on the concrete barrier next to the mural wall.  Turning her head to the cries of delighted youth, he noticed a few stray curls peaked out from the bottom of her hat onto her neck, and resisted the urge to brush them back in.  “Do you like them?” she asked. 

 

Sans blinked at her, their gaze perfectly level with one another while seated, then looked back down at the book.  “and here i thought you found me super _sketchy_ ,” he returned.

 

Charlotte let out a low chuckle.  “You are the _picture_ of mystery.  I hope to do more drawings of you all.”

 

He put on a fake smile.  “is that all?”

 

She almost frowned at him, lifting back up to snatch up a spray can.  “This may be hard to believe, but I don’t have anything against monsters.  I have a couple of monster friends.  You’re people.  I like to draw people I get to know.”

 

“you said you use us for inspiration,” he challenged, though keeping his tone cheery.

 

Charlotte let out a quiet scoff.  “Well look who’s all high-and mighty!” she muttered, her voice suddenly poisoned with a quiet hint of betrayal.  “The world doesn’t revolve around you.”  Her words were harsh but her voice a seething cold, and it was somewhat intimidating how she could make the statement powerful while also seeming indifferent.  At his surprised silence, she sighed defeat, deflating slightly.  “So, this is why you came with me today, huh? I never wanted to make you think I’m only friends with monsters for my own gain or pleasure.  Look at those drawings and tell me if you think I drew them with dollar signs in my eyes.”

 

Sans soaked in the drawings again, a pang of guilt keeping him silent.  He felt bad for doubting her innocent intrigue with him and his friends.  She was waiting for a response, hand on her hip and a hint of fear on her face.  She was worried he was going to disappear, just like so many others when they discovered how . . . she was.

 

“sorry,” he told her, sliding his eye lights away from her gaze in shame.  “guess i fell over jumping to conclusions.”

 

Charlotte smiled fondly.  “Accepted.  And don’t worry, I knew you were uncharacteristically protective the moment I met you.  It’s kind of nice that you’re worried about Grillby and Papyrus.”

 

“heh, what can i say?  Under the skin i’m soft to the bone,” he mused.

 

“You’ve got some backbone, though, I’ll give you that,” Charlotte returned playfully.

 

He placed her sketchbook back with the duffel bag and continued to watch as the mural began to piece together.  She hadn’t told him what it was of, though he began to guess as shapes and colours came into their own.  A great big bird-of-prey spread its wings above a pine forest, soft wind currents curling around its form into the clear sky.  He wondered if the owner asked for it specifically or if it was her idea.  Maybe it didn’t matter.

 

Charlotte had brought lunch with her and shared, saying she didn’t eat much while painting anyways.  Nights became darker faster this time of the year, and before Sans knew it, he had spent the better part of the day chatting and joking with her.  He asked a bit about her life, her about a bit of his, but they stayed away from the personal questions.

 

He teleported her home, and she didn’t wobble as much on the landing this time.  She had hesitated again before making contact with him, but was fairly less fearful.  He concluded that there was more to this than just the fact that he was a monster.  After a soft-spoken goodbye and a small grin, she was on her way down Maple Lane.

 

Sans lingered to watch for just a few seconds, wondering what Pap had going for dinner.  Charlotte paced up to the door of the brick town house, bag bouncing a bit on her hip.

 

_Shit.  This is happening._


	5. Tired of Trying

It was a cute tiny house.  The garden beds were bare, and a few bushes carefully and lovingly wrapped in burlap for the upcoming cold months.  The siding was thick and clean, the roof tiles immaculate.  Charlotte had a sneaking suspicion that the impressive state of the home was the younger brother’s doing, though she would never say it out loud.

 

She glanced at her phone. 5:27 pm.  _A little early, but meh_.  Papyrus was ecstatic to invite her to the little friendly gathering anyway.  He probably wouldn’t mind.

 

The doorbell ring was met with a less-than-quiet order from the younger skeleton’s goofy but intense tone.  “SANS! DON’T BE SUCH A LAZY BONES AND WELCOME OUR GUEST!”

 

Charlotte allowed herself a smile.

 

“come in! it’s unlocked!” Sans called, making her nearly burst into laughter as she did just that.

 

It was warm, cozy and smelling of delicious spices.  Furniture was sparse, but the various rugs on the hardwood floor filled the void a bit.  Sans was lying on the couch to the left in front of a fairly large TV and stereo set, thought it didn’t have a brand logo.  He had an ankle over a bent knee and a hand behind his head as he texted on his phone.  She got a wink upon entering, and returned it with a wry smirk.

 

“pap, it’s charlotte,” Sans announced, adjusting his legs.  It was a bit odd to see him in jeans, but the ribcage-on-black hoodie and fuzzy purple socks seemed like familiar territory.

 

Papyrus nearly bounded out of the open kitchen on the right of the foyer, past the little dining room, to gleefully greet his guest.  “CHARLIE! Thank you for coming! Now you can experience the WONDERFUL cooking of THE GREAT CHEF PAPYRUS! Please, make yourself comfortable in the living room as Undyne and our other friends arrive.” He shot Sans an irritated squint.  “I would avoid the couch, though.” His brother feigned dramatic offense.

 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help in the kitchen? I’m happy to assist you,” she offered softly, hanging her jacket in the closet.

 

Papyrus shook his head.  “Thank you, Charlie, but I’m almost done.  Besides, you’re the guest! You should relax.”

 

Charlotte elected to take the sofa chair by the window on the other side of the couch, crossing her legs and leaning on the arm.   Sans ventured a quick look as he composed his text to Alphys.  Her hat was lavender with small embroidered leaves all over.  Where did she find all these beanies? Instead of a pullover hoodie, it was a navy zip-up with a black lace tank top underneath and jeans, making her silver necklace stand out.   Not to mention that her thick freckles continued down her chest and even on the backs of her hands.

 

“So, who else is coming?” she asked him, clearly a little uneasy at the idea of meeting new people, but forcing herself to remain calm.  He noticed how her hands kept picking at her sweater sleeves or adjusting her necklace.

 

“undyne and her girlfriend alphys, toriel and the kid frisk, probably asgore,” he returned, sending his text and raising an eyebrow at her.  “frisk is human, about twelve.  doesn’t talk, but we can translate asl if you need it.”

 

“Thanks,” Charlotte said, tapping her feet on the floor in a distinct rhythm.  “They’re the monster-human relations ambassador, right?”

 

Sans blinked at her.  “how did you know that?”

 

She rolled her eyes.  “I told you.  I have monster friends besides you guys.  And I watched the news while in college; I wasn’t always a hermit.”

 

He felt a twist of jealousy at the mention of her other monster friends, but pushed it down quickly, scorning himself. “ain’t never met monsters like us, though,” he chuckled with a wolfish grin.

 

“I’ve never met anyone like you—guys,” she stumbled slightly.  _Sure, smooth save, idiot_.  She hoped the warmth in her cheeks was from the kitchen heat traveling over.

 

The doorbell chose the perfect time to be rung.

 

“come ii—in~!” Sans called, purposefully pitching his voice from the normal deep range to near falsetto.  Papyrus made a discontented “nyeh” from the kitchen.

 

A bright giggle marked the entry of a small slender preteen in a blue and magenta-striped sweater and black jeans.  Their dark brown and messy bob-cut hair framed a cute honey-coloured face.  Directly behind them was a plump and comely white-furred monster in purple garb, her soft and pretty features vaguely reminding Charlotte of a goat.  She was carrying a pie pan with a cloth over top.

 

“Hello, Sans, how are you?” the goat monster greeted with a gentle, motherly tone.

 

The kid, who Charlotte assumed to be Frisk, kicked off their shoes and almost pounced onto Sans in a hug.

 

“hey, kiddo! i’m doin’ just fine, thanks, tor.” He was grinning very happily as he gave Frisk a noogie, eye lights a little wider than usual, and Charlotte couldn’t help but smile fondly at the interaction.  He was quite sweet, even if he didn’t always act like it.

 

“Oh! Who is this? The friend Papyrus told me about?” Toriel murmured, making her way over.  Charlotte pulled out of her seat to be sure to offer her hand first.

 

“Charlotte Alves, very nice to meet you,” she hurried, doing her best to smile through the handshake.  The way Toriel gazed at her made breathing so much easier.

 

“A delight to meet you as well.  The boys had so many good things to say about you.  Especially Sans.  He seams quite impressed.”

 

Charlotte’s eyes flickered towards the skeleton, who was now showing Frisk something on his phone.  A light blue blush was faded into his cheekbones, but he didn’t acknowledge what Toriel was saying.

 

Undyne didn’t even bother to knock.  She pushed open the door and threw off her coat in one fell swoop, giving a loud, “WHAT’S UP, NERDS?!” that Toriel scowled briefly at.

 

“H-hello everyone,” came the small, nervous voice of a short, frankly adorable dinosaur-looking monster with orange-yellow scales and rosy embarrassed cheeks.  Frisk launched off the couch from beside Sans to hug them both.

 

“Hey, punk! How are ya?”

 

“Frisk! You l-look very w-well.  Did you g-grow taller?”

 

“Alphys?” Charlotte muttered to Sans, and he nodded.

 

Various introductions were had, and Charlotte was relieved Undyne did not try to hug her as tightly as she did Frisk, or at all, actually.  Instead she got a bright toothy smile from the strong fish woman.  Alphys seemed to jump right in to ask her about work, telling Charlotte that Undyne informed her of the artist’s chemistry degree.

 

Asgore got wrapped up in work.  Again.  Sans made a ‘tsk’ sound at his phone when he received the text from the king.  He was probably avoiding Toriel.  Again.  She didn’t seem too disappointed by the news, either.

 

Papyrus called everyone to dinner, which was, of course, a variant on spaghetti.  This time was a cheesy casserole.  He was getting much better at the culinary arts, Sans had to admit.  Charlotte took an average amount, finished it quickly, but refused the offer for seconds. She was almost completely silent the entire time, watching every face earnestly, and Sans smiled to himself at the though of her very much wanting to draw.  She had her “art face” on.

 

“Charlotte, you haven’t said much,” Toriel prodded softly.  “Are you alright? Are you unwell?”

 

The artist stared at her briefly, as if trying to understand what was going on.

_Why so quiet?_

_Be polite, Charlotte.  You could afford to talk more._

_Don’t stare, it’s not nice._

_Hey, are you okay? You look so sad._

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she murmured, feeling everyone’s eyes.  “I’m just listening.  It’s been a long time since I’ve sat down for a meal with so many people.”

 

Toriel blinked at Sans, and he shrugged.  How was he supposed to know?

 

“You’re always welcome at our home,” Toriel returned, giving Frisk a small squeeze in the seat next to her. 

 

Undyne put her arm around her girlfriend. “Yeah, and feel free to visit us if you want a girl’s night and booze!! Whoo!” Alphys giggled and agreed with a brisk nod.

 

“THE GREAT PAPYRUS WILL ALWAYS GIVE YOU FRIENDSHIP SPAGHTTI,” the younger skeleton piped up. “And, well, you don’t have to hang out with Sans.  He’s usually ASLEEP anyway.”

 

“you know i’m just too bone ti—”

 

“DON’T SAY IT!” erupted the table simultaneously (minus the dumbstruck Charlotte).  Even Frisk had slapped the table and signed it vigorously.  Uproarious laughter resumed, and Charlotte smirked at Sans’ proud, smug expression.

 

Toriel insisted on doing the dishes even after bringing such a delicious butterscotch cinnamon pie that was literally heaven on a plate.  Papyrus would’ve never allowed her to do it all on her own, so back to the kitchen he went.  Undyne and Alphys decided to play a board game with Frisk, Undyne swearing up and down that she was going to kick everyone’s asses.  They invited Sans, but he preferred to watch this time.

 

That’s when he noticed that Charlotte took a step out.  Didn’t bring her jacket, either.  Maybe she smoked? No, he would’ve noticed the smell of tobacco on her.  Curiosity getting the better of him, he hauled himself off the comfy couch and pushed into his slippers before setting out on the porch.

 

It was cold, but not terribly so; he adjusted after the initial chill.  Charlotte was bent over by the railing, elbows resting on the sturdy wooden ledge and head up to stare across the street.  Dark and quiet, only the occasional vehicle and dog bark disturbed the serenity.  Sans moseyed over and let the railing support the one side of him as he faced her, hands in his hoodie.  His mouth was lax in the more neutral half-smile.  She didn’t look at him, but he felt her relax a bit with a sigh.

 

Her fake pleasant expression and satiric low chuckle made him frown slightly.  “Sometimes it’s just a bit too much.  It’s nothing personal,” she explained.

 

“i can leave—”

 

“Don’t.” It wasn’t desperate or insincere.  Just a simple statement.  She sighed again and reached under her hat to scratch, revealing a small patch of her thick, short dark curls.  “Do you ever just get tired of pretending you’re . . . normal?”  She almost laughed at the cliché.  Or maybe it wasn’t a cliché.  Maybe everything else was.

 

It was such an odd, unexpected question.  Where on earth did this come from?  Did she feel that way?  Was everything a façade? Or was she just covering up one thing?  He took several second to respond, and she waited patiently for him.  She wasn’t asking for him to read into it.  Just yes or no.

 

“yeah,” he muttered, turning to take the same position as her on the railing.  “Sometimes really fucking tired.”

 

Charlotte blinked in surprise; she had never heard him swear so nonchalantly and genuinely at the same time.  Moreover, he didn’t go for the pun that was waiting for him.  She watched his face carefully, waiting for a subtle gleam of humour.  Instead was something she had never seen before.  Sorrow, wistfulness, thoughtfulness, and inexplicable comfort all at once.  He was rather beautiful like this, she concluded.

 

“Wanna tell me about it someday?” she inquired, open and unchallenging.

 

Sans slid his eye lights towards her without moving his head.  She looked distant, lost, and not in her usual “art face” way.  It was like watching memories, or maybe thinking very little at all.  It was peaceful; she was comfortable with him.  Even in silence he felt as though they were having a conversation.

 

“someday,” he agreed, “but you too.”

 

It was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. “Okay.”

 

They watched time go by for some moments more, then headed back inside.  Charlotte was invited to play cards with Toriel and Papyrus at the table.  Sans returned to his warm spot on the couch, reclining lazily and watching as Alphys made a very smart move in their game of Monopoly.  Frisk returned from the kitchen with a milk-moustache and licked it quickly when Sans pointed it out, cracking jokes to tease the kid.  They were clever, though.

 

Frisk eyed Charlotte across the room and then back to Sans, purposefully facing away from everyone as they waggled their eyebrows knowingly.  Sans rolled his eye lights in return, but the kid’s face just seemed to say ‘You liiiike her ~’.

 

He tried his best to ignore it.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm...alluding to angst, perhaps?!?!   
> *X-Files music and shocked gasps*


	6. Hugs are hard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING:  
> If you are sensitive to depictions of sexual assault and panic attacks, please proceed with caution.

“favourite music genre?”

Charlotte sprayed a detail onto the feathers of the soaring bird. “Do I have to pick _one_?”

“heh, that’s the hard part, huh?”

“Okay . . . Electroswing.”

“Sans grinned wide as he flipped through the new drawings in her sketchbook. “Power metal.”

She stretched and took a seat on the concrete barrier beside him, keeping her legs straight out and relaxed.  Her amber eyes lit up with an idea. “Favourite food—besides ketchup.”

Charlotte couldn’t have ever imagined that a skeleton could pout like that, and she let out a small chuckle. “i guess . . . spicy wedge fries _with_ ketchup.”

“Everything’s just a vehicle for ketchup, huh?”

He nodded.  “alas, it’s hard to _mustard_ up the courage to tell you the truth.”

She rolled her eyes and smirked fondly. “I _relish_ in your honesty.”

He poked her arm gently and was surprised when she didn’t flinch much.  Much. “what about you?”

“Uh, depends on the season, but . . . I’d have to say grilled cheese with mushrooms. I’m a simple being.”

“aha! another ketchup conduit,” he laughed, looking quite proud of himself.  “favourite colour?”

Charlotte launched her body off their seat and fluidly bent over to grab a can from the bag, using her momentum to spin around and toss it to him.  He caught it nimbly and easily, turning it over to look at the label. _Cobalt_.

“You?” she asked.

With a witty half-smile, he leaned back a bit, a blue-ish cyan light burning, _smoldering_ , from one eye socket.  Charlotte sucked in a breath at the sight, immediately wanting to capture the fierce and ruthlessly calm expression on his face, but she was frozen to the spot. The hand holding the spray can began to glow the same hue, and Charlotte felt the distinct buzz of magic as the paint container flew back towards her.  She caught it before Sans could stop; he never intended to actually throw it at her completely, but he didn’t expect her reflexes to be so good.  For a human.

“guess,” he said, his appearance returning to normal.

She looked at the paint can, then back at him. “You must have a pretty powerful soul to able to do that and teleport.”

Sans was surprised that she even knew anything about it.  “oh . . . well, yeah.  stronger than most.”

Charlotte shot him a knowing look and went back to work. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

He barked out a dark laugh, shaking out a memory of a _small body in a striped shirt_ **b l e e d i n g   o u t** _on a golden light-drenched floor._

“naw, nothin’ between my ears anyway.  including ears.”

A handful of young men with colourful longboards chattered as they walked by to get to the other side of the nearby half pipe.  They gave Sans a few wide-eyed looks and inaudible comments, but he learned to ignore people like that.  Then they saw what Charlotte was doing and gave a few muttered compliments.  Mostly some “aw, shit”s and a couple of “daaaaamn”s.  She smiled and nodded nervously at them politely in her thanks.

“Favourite ice cream flavour?” she called back to Sans as the last skater passed by her quickly.  She was more relaxed than usual; normally she wouldn’t let a stranger so close in her personal bubble.  He lifted his head to respond and nearly froze as he watched what transpired right before his eye lights.  It was like seeing something breakable fall from across the room and not being fast enough to prevent disaster.

That guy grabbed her ass.  Like, he really groped her.  No warning, no comment.  Just a quick and almost casual pass at something he felt he was entitled to.  He probably thought it was no big deal.  Why not, right? What’s she gonna do about it?

The look of sheer terror seeped into Charlotte’s draining face as she processed the few seconds that just happened to her.  The bastard just kept walking like nothing had even happened at all.  Sans leapt up from his spot very swiftly, gaze locked on her to make sure she was going to be okay.

She wasn’t.

As soon as the dickwad of a person let her go, she dropped her spray can with a loud _clang_ and ran.

She really, really ran.

“you get back here, motherfu—“ Sans growled with hostility at the asshole of a human being, his cyan magic catching fire to his eye and hands.

The young man looked back in terror and cried to his friends, “Oh, shit, get out!!”  They all sprinted out of sight before Sans could get a hold of them, laughing and whooping in triumph of their escape.

Sans whipped around for signs of Charlotte.  By-standers who had stopped to stare at the commotion returned to their activities with no concern, but there was no hide or hair of her.  He jogged quickly towards the edge of the mural wall and gave a small glance around the corner.  Well get him a Staples button.  She was crouched against the plaster building in the gravel (he was relieved to see no old needles or used condoms around her; the owner must keep the place pretty clean), face hidden in her knees and arms holding herself very tight.

“hey,” Sans whispered gently, hopping over the concrete barrier to enter her tiny cavern.  Charlotte flinched at the sound and somehow retracted even further in on herself.  Sans stared, feeling useless and confused.  Yeah, it was an awful situation and by no means should have happened, but most women he knew (though he didn’t personally know many) would’ve fought back or yelled at the assaulter or just brushed it off with annoyance.  Perhaps a combination thereof.

This was different.  She was rubbing her arms, rocking lightly back and forth and he could faintly hear a constant small voice from her.

“366, 363, 360, 357, 354, 351 . . .”

All he could think of to do was just sit opposite to her and wait.  So he did.  He waited and listened, eye lights narrow and angry in his sockets.  He wanted to chase that bastard down and beat the living shit out of him.  No woman deserved to be treated that way.  No one at all, really.  What made that guy think he could just help himself to someone’s body?  Sure, Charlotte had curves, but even if she dressed like a slut, that still would be no excuse.

She didn’t deserve this.  She was kind, soft-spoken but awkwardly bold.  Is that a thing? Awkwardly bold . . .?  Beautiful without trying, but not in the “I wake up looking like a model” sort of way.  She just was all those things, there was no background motivation ready to take advantage.

Sans wanted to hug her; she looked so scared.  But that wouldn’t help.  Charlotte knew he was there, knew he was calmly waiting for her, silently supporting her without crossing the line.  She stopped counting, listening to the quiet inhale and exhale blowing past his ribs.  _He breathes? Why?_  Focusing on that rhythm, she forced herself to synch up to it, slowly matching every chestful of air, a strange draw tugging her whole being towards him.

Her hand reached out.  His cold-but alive, smooth bony one accepted it, gripping it a little harder than was perhaps necessary in worry.  Concern.  He was concerned, that was the word.  A warm comfort spread through her mind and body.

He was almost startled when Charlotte raised her head to look at him, a bit puffy from crying.

“it’s okay,” he told her.

She never looked away, and her mouth barely moved with her words.  “It’s okay,” she agreed.  Her thumb slid over the surface of his hand, and the skeleton was suddenly very aware of how intimate this moment was.  Her eyes followed the action, thoughtful, and then she spoke again.

“Why do you breathe?”

Sans managed a small smile at the child-like question.  “why do _you_ breathe?” he challenged.

“I have to; it’s how my body keeps itself alive.  Metabolism, and all that.”

“am I dead?”

“Are you?”

“no,” Sans laughed.

“But you don’t have lungs,” Charlotte returned.

“also true,” he agreed, “but you don’t have magic.  monsters are just different.  we don’t need as much food or water or air, but we can starve or suffocate eventually.  just takes much longer.”

“I guess humans are super flimsy, huh?”

“what you lack in form you more than make up for in soul,” he said finitely.  Charlotte didn’t think she had heard him so serious and frank since their conversation on the porch. It was rare for there to be no humour in his voice, but when there wasn’t, she felt the closest to who he was hiding.

“Does your mouth open?”

“hey, it’s my turn,” he teased.  She rolled her eyes and split a minute smile, and Sans was certain he had never seen such a pure look from her. “favourite flavour of ice cream?”

Charlotte let a bit of air out like a short laugh or maybe an irritated puff. “Candied ginger.”

“mint,” he returned.  “only because there isn’t a ketchup flavoured one.  your turn.”

“You know what I asked, bonehead.”

To answer, he did just that.  His half-smile split into a set of teeth with sharp canines and a dark abyss of a mouth.

“No tongue,” she noted, and blinked in surprise when one appeared in that smoking blue glow of his magic.  He made a big show of licking his chomps and then returning to normal, his sockets squinted a bit in amusement at her expression.

“only if i want to.”

She grinned fondly. “You’re pretty cool.”

“so are you,” he replied quietly, lightly touching the paint stains on her fingers.

“Your turn,” she deflected.

“your cat’s name,” Sans stated quickly, fearfully beating around the bush of what he really wanted to ask.

“Lilah,” she returned with a small giggle. “A fuzzy little English shorthair. Gray fur, gold eyes.”

“you draw her a lot,” he noticed.

“Rainy days with a cup of tea when I can’t paint outside,” she explained.  “She’s one of the best at understanding me, and she’s an animal.”

“who’s the best?” Sans inquired, genuinely curious.  They had their hands turned inwards against each other, both watching blindly as their fingers ghosted across the other’s inner wrists, ridged bone and soft skin.  _So many freckles_ , he thought.

“It’s rather embarrassing,” she admitted, still not looking at him. “My mom, of course, she’s pretty amazing. I’d add my dad to the list, but to be honest, he has a hard time truly dealing with my personality.  Not that I don’t love the guy, and he me.”  Sans would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed by her fairly predictable answer. “And . . .the most adorably lazy, annoyingly funny, sweet and protective older brother of a skeleton.”

Sans stopped to stare at her, his normally wide-smiled mouth dropped into a small gap. “but . . . we barely know each other.”  It had been . . . he had to count . . . about a month since the first time they met?  Maybe more?

Charlotte froze him with her gaze.  “Guess that just goes to show how close I get to people. I do have other friends, they’re just . . . they only like knowing people on the surface, y’know? Anybody else just eventually slides out of my life like they—”

“charlotte,” Sans rushed, a bit louder as he grabbed her wrist gently.  She resisted briefly, but his grip was firm and she didn’t fight it. “why are you afraid?”

It was such a simple question with such a loaded answer.  Would he think her a huge weirdo if she told him?  Maybe it wasn’t as big of deal like she felt it was.  Better to tell him now than later when it will hurt more.  No more running.

She let out the long breath she was holding, blinking slowly and grasping his wrist in return.  She liked how his jacket sleeve was pulled back a bit to reveal the two bones of his forearm.  “When I was small, I saw the world differently.  Mom always said I had the eyes of an artist.  I started drawing what I saw as soon as I could hold a pencil.  For the first little while . . . I was normal.  Just another kid.  And then something happened inside me . . . I don’t know how to describe it, I don’t even know how it feels.  I was odd, and not in a good way.”

“being odd is never a bad thing,” Sans mused.  “monsters are basically the definition of strange now.  even before the seal was broken i was considered pretty weird.”

“I’m not talking about chugging an entire ketchup bottle,” Charlotte replied curtly, though she did seem to find it a bit funny.  “I couldn’t figure out what I was feeling unless I drew it.  I couldn’t understand how other people felt, I couldn’t put words to expressions—it’s not like I tried and put the wrong word to the wrong face, I just couldn’t talk.”  She looked progressively more defeated and small as she continued, deflating as an acute hopeless embarrassment and surrender took hold.  “I would see a kid crying and instead of thinking, ‘they’re sad’, I sat down and drew them.  Then I could feel it through the drawing.  If I didn’t have access to a pencil and paper, I was just afraid of people.  I was afraid of them asking me all those questions about how I was and why I looked happy or sad because . . . I just didn’t know. It terrified me.  And then . . . I got terrified of people touching me in any way, getting close to me.  Mom and dad were okay, if it was a good day, but everyone else—anyway, I got better, sorta . . . I can understand people a bit better now . . .”

Sans stared at her.  Humans were sometimes beyond him. “why do you hide it all the time?”

“Because I wish it didn’t exist!” she exclaimed almost immediately.  Sans winced as her body folded up on itself again, her head whipped away, and her face twisted in self-spite.  Her voice was the most intense he had every heard, so rough and hurt and grieved. “I can control it a bit, but I can’t make it turn off.  I’ve had an ex-girlfriend who broke up with me because I couldn’t do lots of hugs and I couldn’t make out with her.  I’ve had an ex-boyfriend who—” she cut herself off, and Sans could’ve sworn he heard a choked sob before she quickly continued. “The worst part is, I want to be close to people.  I want unexpected hugs and approving pats on the back from friends, and pleasantly strong kisses from a lover.  I’ve never really _been_ with someone.  There’s something _wrong_ with me, and it’ll never go away!”

“there’s nothing wrong with you,” Sans told her.

“Oh, _shut up!”_ she burst, her voice poisonous and face screwed a bit in anger. “Don’t pretend it’s not there.  I saw it, I sketched out the suspicion on your face.”

“i’m not pretending,” he retorted roughly, his voice lower than usual.  “it’s there, and it’ll never go away, but that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.  it doesn’t mean _you’re_ wrong.” Who was he talking to? Maybe not her . . . “it just is, but you’re far too strong to let it hold you back.  i haven’t known you for long, but i know you well enough to be sure that you’re strong enough.  it is a part of you but not all that you are.”

Before he could even register it, Charlotte was clinging to his bony shoulders in a tight embrace, sitting on her knees and leaning all her weight into his chest.  He almost coughed from the impact, gathering his senses and wrapping his arms around her in return. She was so soft and warm, and smelled of eucalyptus.

It was very odd to hug a skeleton, but Charlotte didn’t care.  It was bony but cushioned by clothing, and the distinct lack of warmth was replaced with the comforting hum of his magic.  Her cheek was pressed against his smooth skull, relishing in the closeness she had hardly even had with her parents.  It was frightening, sure, but everything she knew about Sans and his personality seemed to temporarily cancel out her anxiety.  He was safe, and she was safe with him.

 _Oh, god_ , she thought. _Ah, what the hell._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I'm writing this stuff alright...


	7. Absnowlutely

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I fixed a rough timeline mistake I made in the last chapter. Um, it doesn't really make a huge difference, but it was bugging me.

Charlotte groaned in frustration as soon as she stumbled into her attic flat a dropped her work bag.  Lilah mewled in greeting at her return, stretching on the windowsill in the small living room and padding over to her food tray in anticipation.  Scarf, mitts, coat and boots all dropped in disarray at the doorway.  She loved snow, that was for sure, but she hated how the buses were so late that they were packed with painfully spatially-unaware people.  She had to get off and walk an extra ten blocks just to keep herself from disintegrating.

Warm lights illuminated the small flat calmly, and she immediately relaxed enough to pick up her layers and hang them in the appropriate places.  The living room was on the left, just big enough for a loveseat, a heavenly sofa armchair, a woven circle rug and the coat hanger closer to the door.  The windowsill was deep enough to act as a coffee table, three colourful blown-glass orbs hanging from the top.  On the right was a small stove, toaster, fridge and a couple of cupboards matched with tile floor and a bit of counter space.  Between the two areas lead to an open doorway concealing her bedroom with a lace curtain.

Charlotte managed to feed Lilah, who gave a happy _murt_ and purr, and then warmed up some leftovers in the oven, settling into her armchair with a large bowl and a steamy mug of tea.  Thick collections of flakes silently drifted down from the sky outside, the yellow street lights keeping watch over her quiet neighbourhood.

She checked her phone.  4 texts.

 

Mom 5:32 pm

                Hey baby, wondering what your plans are for Christmas.

Mom 5:45 pm

                We’re going to Florida again and want you to come with!

Mom 5:47 pm

                Dec 14-28.

You 6:11 pm

                Working till the 20 th. Don’t have a choice, the boss need the slaves to pick up the slack for everyone taking vacation.  Those slaves being me and Troy.

Mom 6:14 pm

                T.T

Mom 6:14 pm

                Okay . . . we’ll drop by before we go to give prezzies and take you out for food.

You 6:15 pm

                I’m free Saturday the 12 th.

Mom 6:20 pm

                Okay sweetie, keep you posted!! >.<

 

1 message unread

 

Spoopy Skele 5:40 pm

                you survive the blizzard?

You 6:21 pm

                Two words.  THE. BUS. I’ve never felt so uncomfortable in my life.

Spoopy Skele 6:25 pm

                snow kidding?

You 6:27 pm

                Literally hell on earth.

Spoopy Skele 6:28 pm

                did you polar bear through it?

 

She rolled her eyes.  That was particularly lame.

 

You 6:30 pm

                Only when hell freezes over :P I hopped out and walked.

Spoopy Skele 6:31 pm

                icy what you did there ;) hope you’re keeping warm.

 

Charlotte definitely got warm from that comment.  He was worried.  Well, maybe just caring.  It was . . . sweet.  Then a question popped into her head.

 

You 6:36 pm

                Can you and Papyrus get cold?

Spoopy Skele 6:37 pm

                ab _snow_ lutely

You 6:38 pm

                Are you cold right now?

Spoopy Skele 6:40 pm

                could be better.

 

She tapped out a response and paused.  Backspace.  _Is it too soon?  When is soon enough?  Nah, just a nice talk among friends.  Nothing more.  Ohmygod you’re overthinking it, just go._

You 6:45 pm

You like tea?

Spoopy Skele 6:47 pm

                chai sure do ;)

You 6:47 pm

                I have a fresh pot.

Spoopy Skele 6:48 pm

                is that an invitation?

You 6:48 pm

                Only if you want it to be.

 

Charlotte swallowed.  _There.  No going back now._   Shit.  She sipped her mug and sunk into her chair, eyes blindly staring out the window.  Thank god the apartment was clean.  Well, the parts he would see.  _Wait, the bathroom is through the bedroom.  Does he even need a bathroom?  Probably not._   She remembered what he had said while walking her up to her flat a few nights before.  When in doubt, maagiiicc ~ !

7:02.  _Maybe I freaked him out.  Probably read the signals wrong.  Or maybe just busy?_   Lilah kneaded into her thighs, purring in comfort of her caretaker’s slight distress.

Then her small pointed ears pricked up, her head whipped towards the door, and Charlotte nearly jumped from the knock at the door.  It was soft, but quick, meant not to disturb those who might be within earshot.  Lilah dove right out of her lap and disappeared into the bedroom.

Charlotte laughed softly to herself and lifted out of her seat to open the door for a very familiar face.  Sans was leaning against the door frame with a wry half-grin, his eye lights dilating upon the sight of her.  With his torso slumped by the door like that, he was just shy of her height.  He was delighted to see her already small smile grow a bit upon his arrival.

Instead of letting him in, she mirrored his position on the other side of the doorway, crossing her arms in fake suspicion.  “And what are you doing here, dear sir?”

He straightened and bowed dramatically, the hood of his blue jacket cupping his skull at the motion.  “why, the presence of a warm beverage and the highest company, my lady.”

She chuckled quietly and tilted her head towards the kitchen. “C’mon in,” she offered fondly, pushing off the door frame to fix him tea in her second biggest mug.  Sans followed suit, shutting the door behind him and taking in the arrangement of her flat.  She faced away from him to pour the tea, and that’s when he noticed.

He had never seen her in anything aside from a sweater of some sort. Her freckles draped down her shoulders and neck as thick as ever, but the slightly faded, albeit dark and distinct marking enraptured his attention for a long few seconds.  The spaghetti-strap tank top perfectly revealed the large dragonfly tattoo that stretched from the base of her neck to the middle of her shoulder blades, the wings no further than where the bone would curve out gracefully.  It was solid black, no shading, and cut out sweeping, pen-like lines out of the bronzed olive skin.  Dotted and curled accents made the entire thing like a work of jewelry.

“You take sugar?” Charlotte asked, completely unaware of his staring.

“uh, yeah, just a spoonful.” Sans was suddenly very aware of how awkward he was, frozen in spot by the kitchen, hands in his pockets and eyes fixed on her back.

A small gray cat mewled to his attention and arched her fuzzy back into him, rubbing the sides of her face against the exposed bones of his shins affectionately.  He smiled happily and stooped slowly so the little feline could smell his phalanges and receive a gentle stroke behind the ears.

Charlotte turned to give Sans his mug and gave a friendly grin at the sight.  “She seems to really like you, huh?”

Sans shrugged like he didn’t care, but was clearly enjoying himself. “i don’t mind most animals, but there’s something about cats . . .”

“Oh, you have a lot in common,” Charlotte mused, moving over to her chair to place the mug on the window sill opposite to hers.  “Sleep all day, whine till you get fed, always have a smug look—”

“you’ve been taking notes from papyrus,” Sans laughed, carefully lifting Lilah up on his shoulders and heading to the loveseat.  He wasn’t much in the way of height, but she seemed to appreciate the view, taking the opportunity to rub her face on the side of his skull.

“Naw, it’s pretty easy to figure out for yourself,” Charlotte returned smartly, bundling up in a very thick quilt in her seat.

“cats are also regal, intelligent, graceful, clever—” he stopped at the sight of her smile growing wider and wider by the second. He had never seen her so pleased with herself.  “hey!” he protested half-heartedly, trying to hide his grin in his tea.

“I’ll give you clever,” she decided, taking a sop, “Sly as a fox, I’d say, and maybe just as ferocious as one, but not regal or graceful.”

He chuckled darkly.  “oh, you haven’t seen ferocity.”  Initially, it was meant as a tease, but he had to chase the unexpected twinge of guilty dread. _Murderer._

Sans missed Charlotte’s embarrassed blush.  What was _that_ supposed to mean? She prevented her mind from taking that disturbing (although somewhat titillating . . .?) train of thought.  She didn’t even want to wonder how any of that would work.

With a sigh and a glance out the window, “I can’t believe it’s the Christmas season already,” Charlotte muttered.

Sans watched her wistful face with concerned intrigue. “not your favourite?”

“No, I love this time of year,” she returned quickly.  “Besides the bus thing.  Makes it hard to do graffiti though.”

“from the weather?”

“That, and general lack of customers.  I usually just paint inside on canvas.”

He gave her a pleasant expression.  “you’ll have to show me sometime.”

She made a face of consideration.  “Maybe.  My personal paintings are, well, personal.  You’ll like the one I’m working on right now.  I _might_ show you when it’s done . . .”

Sans forced his bony lips (if you can call them that) into a weak pout, his eye lights wide and watery, the sockets contorted in feigned sorrow.  Charlotte couldn’t help but giggled softly, giving him a mischievous look over the rom of her mug as she took a sip.  There was no one she knew who could make her so amused as him.

“You’ll have to earn art-viewing rights,” she told him, teasing.

“Heh,” he muttered, his eye lights sliding towards the window.  “way to _brush_ me off.  paint me a picture, here; how should i get these privileges?”

“Tomorrow’s supposed to be sunny,” Charlotte began, already prepared with an answer.  “I was going to hike down a nature trail a little ways out of town to relax and sketch the birds.  I’m sure they’re hungry after such a heavy layer of snow.  Come with me to be my bird-perch, and I’ll let you see my paintings.”

He rolled his eyes slowly and dramatically, making a show of mulling it over. “i suppose i could, but i might be a bit _hawk_ ward just standing there.” There was that wonderful shit-eating grin again.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, “ _Toucan_ play at that game.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle.  “you _quack_ me up. i’m not sure how much help i’ll be, though.”

This time it was Charlotte’s _tern_ to pout (heh, get it?). “I don’t want to be _owl_ alone.”

He laughed quietly at her pun, but there was a small hint of genuine affection there in his big smirk. “alright, kid.  i’ll be there.  don’t want you to get bonely.”

The two friends enjoyed each other’s company until later into the night, sometimes with long exchanges and other times in comfortable silence.  He thanked her for the tea and carefully returned Lilah to her caretaker to blink away out of sight, leaving Charlotte to contemplate solitude.  She allowed herself the desire to be around Sans more often.  He was so quirky, sly, funny, and secretly a bit shy.  He still hadn’t hinted at what doubts were shackled to him as she had confided her problems, but that didn’t scare her.  Whatever it was, she would strive to treat him as he did her: with kind reflection, encouraging comfort, and a quiet understanding without pretending he truly knew what if felt like.

 _We’re both a little odd,_ she supposed _.  I wouldn’t wind having that by my side.  And me by him.  Monster or not.  Skeleton or skin.  In the end, it’s out souls that hold our conversations._

Charlotte had been told about souls from a monster friend in college.  It intrigued her to imagine what Sans’ looked like, what it felt like.  She wondered what hers was like.  Did he look? Would she have noticed if he had?  Suddenly she felt very exposed.  She could hardly handle hugging him that one time, and it was mostly because her desire to be close was greater than her irrational fear.  What would be like to have him see her soul?  It was frightening, to the point of her stomach feeling like water, but there were dragonflies of excitement as well.


	8. First Steps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Held out on you guys to build a bit of tension ;) 
> 
> Things are moving forward in this chapter.

“Hold still,” Charlotte laughed, watching Sans flinch a bit as a chickadee fluttered to his opened hand.  A mixture of sunflower seed enticed a handful of curious feathered friends.  Sans glanced uneasily at her, but her loose and gentle smile helped him ignore the odd situation.  Even her giggles and speech were a little more liberal and relaxed around him.  Her freckles were bold against the darker skin in the bright Saturday afternoon sun, and he had to keep himself from staring.

“if there’s one thing i’m good at, it’s not moving,” he chuckled, his deep timbre initially startling the birds. He fixed his tone to be softer.

Charlotte watched carefully and swiftly drew out some doodles on her sketch pad as she sat on the gazebo railing a few meters away from him.  “You can move a little, just slowly,” she returned, her voice slightly indifferent as she got her ‘art face’ on.  Sans almost sighed wistfully.  She was adorable like that.

A small woodpecker latched onto his bony fingers and twisted its head in jerky flicks as it watched him stare, taking a seed and disappearing.  Each bird was different in weight, sounds, how they flew and landed on his hand and watched him.  He decided he liked this, despite their grabby little feet making him feel weird.

“Not so bad, huh?” Charlotte called, smiling fondly at him.  She was drawing slower now, probably focusing on details.

“heh.” He shrugged. “yeah, they’re pretty fluffy.”

They enjoyed the wilderness in relative silence, the twittering of the chatty birds sharper than the snow-muffled words of passersby.  Some had grown quiet upon seeing him, one older woman stopped to watch with a kind smile and moved on, and a few kids just shot curious glances and carried on.  At one point, interrupting Sans’ admiring of the birds, a couple of teenage boys in jeans and warm coats passed by on the path, making him tense and bristle slightly at the memory of Charlotte’s breakdown.  A hot protective impulse welled inside him, and his avian companions seemed to notice, waiting for him to calm before returning to the food he offered.

After they were out of sight, Charlotte regained his attention.  “Not every young guy is an asshole, you know.  If I though that, I wouldn’t leave my home.  It’s all risk for the potential of delight.  Besides, you’re not too bad.” She winked at him.

He grinned at her naïveté. “how do you know i’m young?” he asked.  “i might act like a slobby college student, but i can’t wrinkle like you humans do.”

“You also probably can’t ‘age’, really, but I know you’re not immortal,” Charlotte returned.  They she paused to catch his gaze.  “How old are you?”

He quirked a brow-bone. “how old are _you?_ ”

“Twenty-three,” she quipped bravely.

He slid his eye lights to the side, like he always did when he knew more than he was saying.  “by monster standards, i’m not that much older. but you’re right, we don’t age in the same sense as humans.”

Charlotte nodded in understanding, and they quietly resumed for a few more seconds.  Then another question popped into Sans’ head.

“have you ever—” he rephrased what he had ready to say, “—stayed inside from not wanting to be around people?” There was more to his inquiry than his words, but she read through the lines.

It looked like a dry swallow. “Yeah,” she muttered almost inaudibly.  “You?”

Sans glanced away from her to a bird. “yeah.”

Charlotte felt a sad warmth in her chest draw close to him.  After adding a collection of detail to her sketch, she returned the pad to its bag and dove her hand into the plastic container of seed she had brought.  Sans’ spine tingled at the sound of the snow compressing under her boots as she came up beside him and received some fluffy friends of her own.

“Animals are one of my favourite things to draw,” she told him softly, a small smile squinting her eyes as a nuthatch clung to her fingers. “A bundle of complex and organized energy and information with innocent instincts formed into specialized and beautiful form.”

Sans laughed.  “sorry, kid, you lost me a little.”

She gave him a jokingly unimpressed look.  “At least I try to pay attention when you start talking about physics.  The only physics I took was for thermochem and understanding how atoms work.”

“sometimes i forget you’re a che _misery_ major,” he murmured.  “what made you decide that, anyway?”

She shrugged.  “I was good at it in high school.  I thought it would be neat to learn about what makes things stick together, and—well, I knew I wouldn’t be able to feed myself on my art career alone.”

“no regrets?”

She shook her head. “In the long run, no.  I like being financially independent.  It’s a pain in the ass sometimes, but it’s worth it.”

He nodded in silent agreement, chuckling a bit as a couple of chickadees almost collided in their earnest pursuit of food.  “you seem to like flying animals.  you have pages of birds and dragonflies in that book.”

“Dragonflies are a symbol of a new perspective.  I promised myself a long time ago that I would always try to find new perspectives.  In art, in my job, for my parents, my friends, and myself.  When the monsters emerged, I was still in college.  There was a big social movement for the administration to accept monster students.  We weren’t the only ones, but we tried to help where we could.  I graffitied almost every building on campus with dragonflies in blue and magenta stripes.”

Sans blinked in surprise and realization.  Charlotte found it very cute when he did that; it reminded her of Jack Skellington. “frisk,” he thought aloud, and she nodded to confirm.

“I even painted over the school crest on the admin building, with help, of course.  They never found out who did it, but it sure kicked their asses in gear.  We got the ball rolling.”

Charlotte was so casual about this.  It was like it had just been another day in the life, anyone would’ve done what she had.  Except not everyone would have.  She made it seem like everyone _should,_ but not everyone was like her. If he was honest, it was breathtakingly attractive.  He was, however, very curious how someone as initially shy and quiet as her would be so quick and driven to do things like that.  _Rebellious streaks in us all,_ he supposed.

“and the tattoo?” Sans asked, finally mustering up the words.

“Got it the day I turned eighteen.  Mom wouldn’t let me otherwise.”

He grinned.  For some reason the way she said that was awesome.

“Speaking of markings, please don’t stare at my freckles all the time.  I thought you’d be used to it by now,” she sighed, though not spiteful.  In fact, she seemed a bit amused, and there was a slight blush on her face.

“sorry,” he pushed quickly, unable to stop the words going from his mind to his mouth.  “you know how much i like space, and there’s more stars in you than anybody i’ve met.” He was using a joking tone, but there was a hot embarrassment spreading into his bones from the truth of the statement.  _I’ve never met anyone like you,_ he wanted to say.  God, he wanted to say it.

Her cheeks and forehead were bright red now.  His cheekbones glowed blue slightly.  Neither really noticed the other, too wrapped up in their own flustered feelings.

They fed the birds for a few minutes longer until Charlotte wrapped it up, saying she didn’t want them to get as lazy as him.  Their conversation returned to a normal witty banter and discussion of various topics.  Sans insisted that she come to Grillby’s more often to hang out with Undyne and Papyrus for drinks and food.  She agreed, and expressed interest in seeing Alphys, Toriel, and Frisk again as well.  Both noticed the odd looks they got from humans as they walked down the path of the trail, but said nothing.

Sans insisted on teleporting, and, beginning to feel a bit of social exhaustion from being in public, Charlotte agreed.  He gripped her hand soundly after warning her he would, and on impulse bent his elbow to bring their laced fingers closer to his chest.  As he did, it gently pulled her in more, and they were mirroring each other, inches close.  Her eyes widened in fear at first, but the steady and kind look he was giving her quelled the uneasiness.

Then the ground disappeared.  The feeling was akin to that of being dropped by a roller coaster.  She caught glimpses of the void—as Sans called it—it’s colourful cold oxymoronic emptiness.  It was hope and despair, darkness and light, but one thing never changed: the distinct chill of warm self-assurance, like for a brief moment, everything and nothing mattered.

And then she was staring at her apartment.

Lilah hissed and dove into the bedroom.

Sans blinked, and his once dark sockets illuminated with his eye lights again.  They seemed to dilate like he was adjusting to the dimmer light of the sunset out the window.

They were so close.  Closer than she remembered being to anyone for a while.  It wasn’t even that close compared to lots of other things and other people, but it was for her, and the fact that her trust in him was more than her fear was so inexplicably comforting.  It reminded her of that day he helped her through her anxiety attack.

“You want to stay for dinner?” she whispered, not pulling away or losing their steady eye contact.

He blinked in that cute way again.  “yeah.”

She let go of his hand to take off her coat.  Sans wondered if she trailed her fingers along his inner wrist bones like that on purpose, but it drove him nuts in a very good way.

“Homemade fish and chips?” she asked, rolling up the sleeves of her sweater and opening the fridge. “Ketchup conduit,” she added cheekily.

He let out a laugh and agreed, shedding his jacket to assist her, also pushing up the sleeves of his off-white sweater.  Seeing the bones of his forearms made her heart skip a beat.

Turns out Sans wasn’t too bad at being useful in the kitchen when he wasn’t being lazy.  They chatted and teased as they cooked, and in the end, it turned out nice.  Though, Charlotte made a face when he drowned everything in that bright red condiment.  She said he owed her a new bottle.

They ate, had tea, and before they realized, they had been spending a few hours together.

“Here’s a question I’ve never asked,” Charlotte said, rolling the last inch of tea in her mug.  “You said you have a job, but I don’t know what it is.”

For once in his life, Sans actually cared how that information would make someone see him differently. “i do little projects with alphys’ think tank once in a while, but it’s not enough to pay the bills, kinda like your graffiti stuff,” he explained.  “i ran a hot dog stand in the underground, so i picked it up again here.  it’s a comfortable job.”

She was smiling at him, but not out of mockery. “Let me guess, you pick at the ketchup, don’t you?”

He grinned wider. “naw, my boss would chew me out.  i have _some_ self-control, you know.”

“And Papyrus?”

“heh, he wanted to be a ranch hand, but settled for working at a pet shop and helping out undyne with the dojo.  he’s a model employee.”

“I should bring Lilah to your place sometime.  I’m sure he’d love her,” Charlotte mused.  Speak of the devil, her fuzzy gray shorthair leapt up to Sans’ bony lap and kneaded into his track pants.

“oh great, now i won’t be able to move all night,” Sans chuckled, giving Lilah a scratch and a long pet.

“Like you mind,” Charlotte sighed, rolling her amber eyes.  “Well I certainly don’t.”

A hot spine of embarrassment struck her face.  _Did I just say that?!_

Sans’ grin dropped a bit and his bone brows rose. “is that an invitation?”

Charlotte avoided his fixed gaze and sipped the last of her tea.  “I suppose it is.  It’s pretty cold out.”

“i can teleport.”

“That’s true.”

He paused.  “you’re far too trusting.”

She let out a dark laugh.  “I’m really _not.”_

“does that make me special?”

This was it.  She locked her eyes on him with an invisible vice grip, ignoring the slight trembling sensation in her fingers. “Yes.”

He turned pretty blue.  She was relieved that she wasn’t the only one feeling a tingling in her cheeks.  For a moment, she felt absurd.  _He’s a skeleton.  I must be weird.  Ah, what the hell._

“I trust you, Sans,” she continued, pushing a stray curl into her beanie hat.  “I’m just asking for some company.” She hesitated, waiting for him to react. “For a _companion_.”

It looked like he swallowed (how?). “’kay.” His startled deer-in-the-headlight expression was thoroughly adorable.  She couldn’t help but laugh as she lifted out of her chair.

“You tell Papyrus and you can come see the paintings in my room, yeah?”

“m’kay.”

Charlotte collected dishes into the sink for later as Sans pulled out his phone and typed out a text.  Papyrus replied right away with far too many winky faces.  She moved into the bedroom behind the lace curtain and Lilah followed at the promise of a soon warm bed, leaving Sans to lag behind.

The large, fluffy, quilt-covered bed was dead center with the sloping triangle attic ceiling, a dresser and small clothes rack on the left with the window, and a full-length mirror with the door to the bathroom on the right.  A large wooden easel stood proudly by the window, but the canvas was turned away.  Every spare inch of wall had different sized paintings leaned against it in piles.  Charlotte excused herself to the bathroom as Sans lifted a canvas from a pile and began skimming.

She was right when she said they were more personal.  The style was similar to that of her graffiti pieces but smoother, and more blended.  They were lightly symbolic, and each was a different set of complex emotions.  A bird with a broken wing, a cold sun behind a dead tree, a dragonfly made of light on a hand that looked remarkably like hers.  Contrasting colours and deep shading was present in every one, causing his eye lights to wander across from one to the next.

Then the easel.  It was a smaller canvas, landscape orientation, and showed a long, slender white fox.  The creature was clearly moving gracefully, swiftly, in a dance-like motion, with its head bent to the side as if it was looking behind its path.  The eyes were a smoldering, smoking blue, and imbedded into its pure fur was a darker shadow of a skeletal structure.  The shadow grinned toothily, but the fox seemed wistful and observant.

“You like it?” Charlotte asked, the soft lights of her room glowing on her spotted skin as she drew up next to him to look at the painting, crossing her arms as if she was cold.  He knew she was just subconsciously afraid of his opinion, even if she pretended she didn’t care.

“i do,” Sans whispered. “you’re amazing,” he continued, capturing her delighted smile.

“Likewise,” she returned frankly.  After a pause of watching each other’s eyes, she sucked in a breath and gestured to the bed.  “We can share, as long as you don’t touch me.”

He nodded assent, but she insisted her point with a dangerous look.

“I’m serious. Try anything and I’ll never forgive you.”

Sans’ sockets grew dark like the time they first met, his voice pitched low and sombre.  “I would never—”

“I know,” Charlotte cut in, pulling shorts and a large t-shirt from her dresser and disappearing again into the bathroom.

Sans watched her go, glancing back at the painting once as the bathroom door clicked shut.  What an odd situation.  He didn’t expect anything special to happen in a physical way, but for someone like Charlotte, this was a huge leap of trust.  He was flattered, to say the least, but they hadn’t even discussed the nature of their relationship yet.  If read between the lines, it was pretty clear that there was something more than friendship here, but he wouldn’t really believe it until he heard it from her.

The awkward skeleton climbed under the covers of the left side of the bed.  It was wonderfully comfortable.  Soft, but the mattress was firm and supporting.  A quiet hum came from the bathroom as the bristling noise of a toothbrush began, and Sans smiled to himself.  He almost drifted away while listening, but then the tap ran, and the door opened.  Charlotte’s torso was rather lost in the baggy t-shirt, the hem just above the gray pajama shorts. She didn’t seem to notice his lingering gaze as the lamp shifted on and the main light off.

“Comfy?” she whispered softly, peeling back her side of the bed and adding her pleasant weight to the mattress.  As she slid her legs under, Sans’ face heated at a happy realization.  _Stars_ , her freckles and spots continued down the tops of her thighs.

“yeah,” he replied simply, unable to find a snappy comeback.

Charlotte hummed in approval, wrapping herself up but keeping away from his side of the bed.  Her hand went up to turn off the lamp, but paused.  Sans blinked, about to ask what was wrong, and was answered as she rolled to face him.  Thinking she would stop to say something, he was astonished and frozen in spot as her fingers laced in his and she propped herself up above him, nose inches from the bone of his. 

She seemed to carefully analyze him for a moment, eyes flicking across his features without much expression, and Sans forgot how to breathe briefly.  She was contemplating something, considering the funny little lazy skeleton below her, and finally, lifted her other hand to pull off the beanie hat still planted on her head.

The short, dark, wavy curls fell around her face and eyes in an unkempt, albeit somewhat stylized way.  Charlotte was almost shaking in fear, but her gaze betrayed her thoughts.  She wanted him to see her, to show him who she was with no masks and undying trust.  It was the trust of a friend, and a hint of the genuine admiration of a lover.  Sans would be lying if he didn’t think that she was beautiful in a strange and innocent way.  It was almost as if she was settling a ground rule; holding his hand, being close, seeing her like this: _this was okay_.

The edges of where his teeth met the bones of his oddly flexible face were pulled into a small ‘o’ shape of surprise.  Charlotte shoved her fear away and gently leaned in to press a chaste kiss into that spot. Sans reciprocated slightly despite his utter bewilderment, leaving all the control in her hands.  It wasn’t warm in the bodily sense, but the hum of his magic comforted the action despite the somewhat hard and smooth texture.

“Goodnight,” she breathed, and before he could reply, the light was off, and her body turned away from him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooooh, what now?!


	9. The Grass Is Always Greener

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm guess what, I'm back.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for your encouragement and suggestions! Keep 'em coming, it really helps.
> 
> Here's something I think you'll be satisfied with.
> 
> Enjoy.

Sans blinked his drowsy eye sockets open to the sound of Lilah’s heavy affectionate purr vibrating through his bones. Somehow, in his shuffling during the night, he was now lying on his left side facing inward, and the gray fur ball had crawled up his shirt to rest her head on the inside of his ribcage. It was an incredibly odd sensation, but he didn’t mind her soft warmth there. He snatched the sheets to pull back over his head, shifting and grumbling sleepily.

That’s when he remembered where he was.  Charlotte was still turned away from him, curled up under the covers like a caterpillar. The baggy t-shirt she was wearing had ridden up slightly, exposing the small of her back and the random speckles accompanying it. There wasn’t an inch of her without spots, he imagined. A heat blossomed in his face; perhaps he should stop imagining. It was extraordinarily tempting to slide his phalanges along the faded markings, maybe wrap his arms around her waist in morning greeting—but she wouldn’t want that at all. He wouldn’t hurt her like that, it wasn’t right.

Charlotte let out a soft gurgled groan as she rolled over her slumbering face coming into view. Her dark curls clung to her cheeks slightly. Perhaps she was drooling a little at some point. He smiled, admiring the cuteness, as her mouth split open just a bit with her steady deep breathing. Her nose scrunched slightly, as if she was about to sneeze, but simply settled more into her position. Sans held back an amused chuckle. He couldn’t think of a better place to be right now. He was completely smitten.

A part of him wanted to cuddle her, cover her in kisses until she was breathless, hold her close and feel her warmth sink into his bones—but this, this moment, this calm before the storm of life, this was just fine with him. They were safe here, she could feel reassured with the knowledge that he was only going to touch if she was perfectly sure. It’s not as if he had a right to do so; she was under no obligation, and he was under no privilege. His dirty,  **b l o o d i e d**   hands had no right to—

Her breathing shifted phase, eyelashes fluttering open and a bit sticky from sleep. With a gaze glossed over by a lingering dream, her amber eyes took him in for a couple of seconds before blowing wide with shock. The covers flew off her back as she violently tore herself up off the mattress, nearly stumbling to the floor with the sudden dazed headrush.

Sans sat up quickly, Lilah sliding out of his ribs and shirt as he lifted a hand to calm Charlotte. “hey, it’s okay, it’s just me,” he whispered, eye lights narrow in surprise and distress. Charlotte was a mess, her shirt sliding off her shoulder, eyes bright in fear and her hands clenched into fists around the fabric of her shorts. Her hair could have been the posterchild for teenager bed-head.

She let out a breath like a shudder and wrapped her arms around herself, still too uneasy to return to the bed. “Sorry,” she managed, her voice barely audible.

“s’okay,” Sans replied softly, holding himself up with his naked arm bones. He noticed Charlotte’s now intrigued gaze as it raked over the straights and curves of his frame. She was trying to distract herself, perhaps, but her worried expression was quickly replaced with her ‘art-face’. Inching back over to her side of the bed, she crawled gently in to kneel beside him, their faces quite close as the pads of her fingers skimmed over the humerus of his other arm. Her gentle touch glided down the surface of the milky bone, making its way past his elbow to the radius and ulna. Using her other hand to lift his limb by the fingers, she continued to inspect him curiously, a child-like innocence to her mannerism.

Sans felt like a science test subject. Or maybe a patient. Either way, he wasn’t complaining, because as Charlotte leaned in to slip her fingers between the bones of his forearm, her neck was inches from his nose. She smelled like grapefruit . . .

Every inch of his body tingled with his magic, and Charlotte loved that. It was even present just above the smooth surface of his bones, like static, or the mysterious force that repelled identical poles on a magnet. It seemed more powerful today; it was almost thrumming in her ears—oh, his bones had miniscule ridges that seemed a bit rough in some places but overall were quite level, especially towards the ends of his finger tips. He smelled faintly of ketchup and spearmint, an odd but now familiar combination. She watched the joints of his hands while continuing to examine from all angles.

Sans was blue in his white face, sockets wide and alert and eye light small and skittish. Charlotte didn’t notice his encroaching embarrassment. He may have talked the big talk and made a few dirty jokes with Undyne, but when it came down to actually expressing affection or being intimate he was a tongue-tied mess. He wasn’t used to handling anything deeper than meaningless flirting. So when he saw the way she was looking at him, so curious and explorative, but so odd and unusual in these small moments—he froze. He watched. He listened.

Because really, he was as enthralled with her as she was with him. He started noticing those details: her nails were short and filed down neatly, it didn’t look like she plucked her eyebrows much like many other human women, her eyelashes were short and thick and tightly curled, there was a ring of green along the outside of her irises, she breathed through her mouth and nose interchanged with no discernable preference.

Suddenly he shivered as Charlotte’s fingers lightly skimmed the edge of his pelvic bone, which was open to the air thanks to the waist band of his track pants sliding down a bit. Sans’ magic pulsed with warmth and he let out a wheezed, strained chuckle, gently grabbing Charlotte’s wrist to stop her. “let’s leave that for another time, yeah?”

She blinked, flushing, and nodded. As understanding kicked in, her eyes darted for something aside from his, throat swallowing thickly. “I’m sorry. About . . . freaking out.”

“it’s fine, honest,” he said, giving her a kind grin to cheer her up.

Charlotte shifted again, folding her legs under her neatly. “Last time I was in bed with someone it didn’t end well.”

“tried to bite off more than you could chew?”

Again she avoided his gaze. “You could say that, yeah.” An idea seemed to dawn on her, and she locked eyes with him in a burst of new determination, though it was still a rather quiet expression. “You should—do what I did.”

Sans quirked a brow and smirked. “wha?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes and snickered softly, returning to her regular self. “C’mon, it’s only fair. You should get to, uh, explore me like I just did you.” She paused, seeing if he understood. “Relationships are . . . reciprocal, right?”

Sans felt a tingle run from the crown of his skull to the points of his phalanges. _Relationship._ The still fresh memory of the kiss they shared last night passed through his mind, making him pause. The more carnal side of him said _again, again, again—_ but reasoning was quick to know that something like this was not to be taken for granted. _She deserves better,_ he thought. _She deserves better than just that._

He leaned forward slightly, giving her a concerned but caring look. “don’t feel like you have to.”

She snorted, apparently finding it funny. “Of course I don’t _have_ to. I _want_ to. At least, I want to try, just with the small stuff. This whole—“ she gestured between them, “—thing is something I want. Why else would you be here?” She paused, gazing at him sadly. “Do you not . . . ?”

“no! i mean, yes! ugh—” he face-palmed and grinned at his own awkwardness. “i want this, you’re amazing, and i’m really happy but i was just worried—”

She poked him in the ribs and smiled. “Nerd. You forget how to be punny when you’re flustered.”

He smirked, eyes half-lidded. “i’m not flustered often.”

Charlotte quirked an eyebrow. “Does that make me special?”

Sans slowly lifted a hand to brush a wild dark curl behind Charlotte’s ear. “ _very,_ ” he murmured, a gentle seriousness to his tone. To his surprise, she didn’t flinch at the contact, instead keeping her steady gaze locked with his. Her own fingers mirrored the motion with his face, and though there was no hair, a graceful slow sweep cradled his head in her hand. _I must be strange to like a skeleton,_ Charlotte thought. _Ah, what the hell._ She leaned into his touch as he did hers. Sans couldn’t help but sigh a bit, losing himself slowly . . .

And then it happened again. He didn’t need to do anything, she just pulled herself forward and closed the already small gap between them. It was timid, inexperienced, and experimental, but the determination and passion seemed to pass from her lips to his bone. Their eyes fell closed, a buzzing heat rose in both their chests and faces, and Sans could’ve sworn he heard her heart beating. Or maybe it was . . . _her soul?_

He couldn’t help himself: his hand moved from her face to the top of her neck, folding his fingers into her hair and holding her head with his thumb just in front of her ear. She seemed to like that a lot, because almost immediately she opened her lips to run her tongue along his bottom mandible. It was like static for him, like she was a battery. Sans leaned in a bit firmer, thoroughly enjoying the thrill, until she pulled away. It was rather brisk, but when he looked at her with a dazed expression and saw her slightly panicked flush, he knew something wasn’t quite right. Before he could ask, she completely blank-slated her face.

“Pancakes,” Charlotte said, a little loudly.

He blinked, eye lights small. “what?”

“Do you want pancakes for breakfast?” she asked again, completely ignoring how odd she was acting.

He glanced to the side. “i . . . guess? yeah, sounds good.”

“Okay,” she announced, hopping off the bed and sauntering into the kitchen.

Sans watched her go, extremely confused, and then absentmindedly watched Lilah grooming herself.

_What the hell just happened?_

 

 

 

Charlotte cracked an egg on the edge of the counter before she added it to the wets. As she whisked, she pushed herself to circle her arm faster, relishing in the ugly burn in her forearm as a result. It didn’t feel good, but it helped forget about what just happened. Or at least, she thought it would. She tried to reassure herself that everything was find, but in reality, she was afraid. She was humiliated and embarrassed and frustrated. But it wasn’t because of him. No, she wasn’t afraid of what he would do or what he had done.

It was because of her.

She was frightened of her own behaviour. The way that whole . . . _thing_ made her feel. She enjoyed it, she took it one step further and then—wow, it wasn’t okay anymore. It wasn’t what he did, it was what she did. It was so confusing; how could she want to press forward and immediately not want to? What was stopping her? What was pushing her on?

Frustration and anxiety welled at the bottom of her stomach like she had swallowed lead. _Stuck._ No way forward, no way back. The idea of hugs, contact, loving touches and delightfully strong affection, it was so interesting. So craved. But grass is always greener . . . until she got there. Then it was scary, overwhelming, overstimulating, difficult to comprehend. How many times had she sketched out the battlefield of her mind, painted with the very aggression that she couldn’t express anywhere else?

Charlotte poured a section of the batter into the thin hot lay of oil and stared blindly as it sizzled away. _Maybe this was a mistake. Who am I kidding, anyway? He’ll get bored once he realizes it. Just like Sarah. Just like Nate. Monsters aren’t that different from humans. Not really._

“hey,” Sans greeted, padding around the corner to lean on the fridge door. He had put his blue sweater back on, but his smile was limited. _Such a caring and concerned look,_ she thought, sliding her gaze to him and returning to the pan. “are we going to talk about this?”

Charlotte knew he wasn’t an idiot, he could figure this out, but she wasn’t expecting him to confront her like that. She hesitated to respond, still not looking at him. “This?”

“us.”

“What about us?”

He sighed quietly. Not irritated, not tired, not disappointed. Just wistful. “we can start with what happened back there.”

Charlotte held her breath. “I can’t imagine you’ll understand.”

Sans chuckled darkly. “try me.”

She almost hissed a bit, flipping the pancake and setting down the spatula with a distinct _clack_. “Look, it’s really hard to explain, okay? I don’t even understand it half the time.”

“just try.”

“Try?” Charlotte laughed in disbelief. “I’ve been trying since the day I popped out. They all expected me to understand, to tell them exactly what was on my mind, to just _know_ how many people felt by looking at their faces? I barely understand _me_ half the time, how could I possibly process anything else?!”

“i think you lost me,” Sans admitted calmly.

“Me too!!” Charlotte explained, gesturing upwards and allowing her arms to fall to her sides again. Her brows were furrowed, her eyes glossy, and now that pancake seemed really interesting. “Anytime people get close, they realize that I’m really not as functional as I pretend. I fake understanding, I feign emotions. Until things get personal, and they see how I really express myself. My thoughts are in bits and pieces. I chose chemistry because I never had to tell a professor what my opinion about anything was. I made friends with monsters because for once, social convention was gone, and I wasn’t as weird as I felt.”

“it’s why you do art, isn’t it?” Sans asked, ever patient.

She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

“it’s your mouthpiece, it’s how you understand.”

“Some people express their deepest emotions through music, or writing, or dance,” Charlotte explained, making a new pancake. “I use art, but the difference is, I use it for everything. I literally would not be able to function without it. When we get close, I get to overwhelmed by things I don’t understand. Things I want to process in my mind, but I can’t. The way I feel, the way you feel, how the two relate; I can’t put thoughts or words or numbers to that. And it terrifies me.”

Sans watched her talk carefully, sinking it all in. Then he straightened, walking over to her slowly, facing the stove and lacing his fingers with hers. They stared at the pancake together. “y’know, there are some things i’ve seen that i can’t even begin to tell you about right now. things i’ve done and allowed to happen. there’s a lot more out there than humans realize. but there are so many things that i couldn’t possibly understand about you. i want you to show me, charlotte. i want you to paint and draw what you feel. and i’ll do my best to comprehend. i’m not going to walk away, and i’m not going to make you do anything. i’m here to help you figure this out. together.”

Charlotte simple nodded again, but her grip tightened around his hand. “Together.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff for the soul.
> 
> . . . Chicken-Fluff . . . for the Soul . . . ?


	10. Going on where?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, still here.
> 
> Hope you like the direction I'm taking this. I'm going to slowly and somewhat shallowly introduce concepts like inevitable monster racism and soul communication . . . but it won't be the focus. Other fic writers have done it all before a hundredfold. It's nothing new.
> 
> I (and I think you as well) am more interested in this relationship dynamic.
> 
> Stop listening to me ramble on. Go read.

“So . . . should we tell them?” Charlotte asked, gripping Sans’ hand a little tighter as they comfortably strolled down the sidewalk. They were navigating the rows of cookie-cutter suburban homes on the way to the Dreemurr household, avoiding patches of ice and squinting against the bright afternoon sunlight that reflected off the thin coating of snow.

 

“tell them what?” Sans returned, giving her a sidelong glance with a shit-eating grin. She relayed a look right back at him, eyes wide and challenging while retaining a glint of amusement inside the amber iris. Charlotte was wearing a hand-knit beanie hat that had the Ravenclaw colours in stripes, hugging her face warmly. The pink tint to her otherwise bronze-ish complexion made it a cute sight to behold, and Sans couldn’t help but capture every image he could.

 

“Don’t be smart. You know what I’m talking about,” she laughed lightly, slightly crooked white teeth flashing between the small split of her lips.

 

Sans felt that honeymoon-phase affection sprout in him but shoved it down with some sparse self-discipline. “what do you want to tell them?”

 

Charlotte shrugged and cast her eyes to her walking feet briefly. “I dunno,” she mumbled, clearly a little uneasy.

 

Sans tugged her hand a bit so she drifted closer, his eyes betraying his empathy through the perpetuating smile. “we don’t need to say anything.”

 

“That’s lame. They deserve to know. Or maybe . . . I just want to get it over with.”

 

“how about, if the opportunity arises, we’ll tell them. or maybe they’ll read the subtext and ask,” he suggested.

 

Charlotte nodded, looking at him again with happy gratitude. “You’re fantastic, you know that?”

 

Sans scratched the back of his skull. “Hey, kid, don’t make me blush.” Too late, he already was.

 

In a bold move, she pulled up their entwined hands and kissed the back of his hand, the slightly fused plates of the lower phalanges flexing a bit with the pressure. There was a strange competitive impulse she had to prove she could make him just as flustered as he did her. Most of their affection towards each other over the past week had been verbal, coupled with the occasional hug and hand-holding. They hadn’t kissed since that first day.

 

According to plan, Sans blinked and blushed brightly at her actions, his eye lights going from surprised small to an elated dilation. Suddenly he laughed, quick and bubbled (which almost never happened, most of his laughs were deep chuckles or hysterical wheezing). He smiled wide at her once more, sighing.

 

“can’t keep your hands off me, can you, doll face?”

 

“Perhaps we should just do that in front of everyone,” Charlotte mused, playfully skipping to avoid an ice patch on the old sidewalk.

 

“that would be kissing and telling.”

 

A woman striding down the path in front of them slowed to allow some time for them to move aside and pass by equally. She was rather bundled in fluffy layers of clothing to bar against the cold, despite being rather skinning. A cigarette was dangling from her fingertips as she took rhythmic puffs, and looked rather fed up with being awake. Charlotte stepped behind Sans as they crossed the stranger, briefly letting go of their linked hands to follow along.

 

Sans stopped dead when he heard a muffled _thud_ behind him, the sound of a firm shoulder shove buffered by coats.

 

“Monster fucker,” a soft sound slid out, and the cigarette was flicked into the snow close by in distaste.

 

By the time he turned around, the woman in layers was walking confidently a piece away, leaving Charlotte in her wake, who had also stopped pacing forward. Sans wanted to shout a string of insults back, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. And judging by Charlotte’s expression, the least of his concern. She was standing perfectly still, hands in her coat pockets and staring blankly at her feet. She eyed the scuffs on her black laced boots, wondering about how they looked like barren brambles in the corner of a shadowed forest.

 

Sans put his slippered feet toe-to-toe with hers. “hey,” he murmured, staring the same way she was.

 

Slowly, carefully drawing in a long breath, Charlotte relished in filling her lungs with the crisp cold winter air and let it go in a frosty cloud of vapour. “I want to draw how I feel right now,” she admitted, pulling her head up to glance at the sky. A crow passed overhead, cawing distantly. “There’s so much going on here.”

 

“going on where?” he asked, mostly just for merit, and following her gaze.

 

Without looking down, she pulled her hand out of her pocket and padded her chest gently, then tapped her temple with two fingers, and then drew both hands up in front of her face, gesturing swiftly down around her.

 

“that’s a lot,” he noted.

 

“How about you?” Charlotte inquired, finally turning her face to him, surprisingly calm and collected.

 

Sans shrugged. “uh . . . what do you mean?”

 

“Where are things going on for you?”

 

It was such a weird question, and a bit of an absurd situation, but he didn’t mind. It made sense right now. He hesitated, but slowly pointed inward to his chest-- _his soul_ \--and then to her-- _her soul_ \--before standing still. It suddenly felt even more personal, and he could’ve sworn he felt a thrum of magic between them for a couple of her heart beats. _Did she feel that? Would it freak her out to know I can see it?_ It was mostly superficial; he hadn’t taken a real look. That was an invasion of privacy she likely wouldn’t enjoy, but he was very much curious.

 

Charlotte nodded at him and smiled, reclaiming his hand in her and continuing on to visit their friends. And at that moment, Sans didn’t care about the injustice that just occurred. Charlotte hadn’t said anything and didn’t justify being with him or her views on how monsters were treated. It wasn’t necessary: he knew all that stuff already.

 

Toriel had decked the house out in the most charming, delicate, and tasteful Christmas decorations you could imagine. It looked like a picture out of a landscaping and interior design magazine. Tiny, twinkling white, gold, red, and green lights in the windows and along the edges of the roof, and inside the holly and ivy on every surface and bundles of raw cinnamon in every corner. It was still a couple weeks until Christmas but the Dreemurr home was in full spirit. Charlotte stared in wonder at the lovely homely spectacle, making Sans chuckle.

 

“yeah, snowdin knew how to do ‘festive’, but tor’s sense of style is just sort of . . .”

 

“Perfect.”

 

“heh. yup. although, you should see our house. paps is ecstatic to decorate every year.”

 

They climbed up the stone steps and entered the warmth with a polite knock, the welcoming scents of a savoury meal and spiced liquor wafting towards them. Undyne, Alphys, Papyrus and Frisk were all huddled around the coffee table on the soft patterned carpet, completely absorbed in a board game as usual. The sofa and chairs were abandoned to all but one monster that Charlotte didn’t recognize, and Toriel could be seen busily working away between the dining room and kitchen not too far further into the house.

 

“Hey, there they are!” Undyne greeted with a toothy smile.

 

The others turned their heads to look and exchanged happy hellos upon the sight of the older skeleton and the quiet artist. Alphys waved, Frisk sprung up to hug Sans tightly, and Papyrus cheerfully called to Toriel that Sans and ‘Charlie’ had arrived. Charlotte couldn’t help the smile that spread on her face as she saw these new friends again, though she was a little uneasy about the new guy on the couch. He looked very similar in anatomy to that of Toriel but had a blonde beard and was considerably taller and bulkier than most other monsters she had ever met. It was rather intimidating, if she was honest, but he looked up from the book he hand in his paws (claws?) and grinned sweetly at her.

 

Frisk let go of their hug of Sans, turned to Charlotte, and before she could begin to be nervous about also receiving a tight embrace, the twelve-year-old simply held up a fist for props. Charlotte complied, a breathy laugh expelling her anxiety.

 

Sans and Charlotte took the smaller sofa across from the ‘new guy’, and she held in her surprise as Sans carefully established his arm resting on the back of the comfy furniture behind her shoulders. It was affectionate, discreet, and . . . safe. Undyne was explaining how the game was going, clearly already on her second or third drink (Toriel would cut her off eventually) when the stranger got a hold of Charlotte’s attention from across the coffee table.

 

“So, um, hi. I’m Asgore.”

 

Something suddenly clicked in her brain. _Right. Toriel’s ex. Previous king of monsters_. He seemed so casual. _Maybe a little awkward, but nice?_

 

“Oh, hi. I’m Charlotte. Friends with . . . everybody,” she said quickly, gesturing to the room. “Nice to meet you.”

 

Sans crossed his ankle over his knee, slowly sinking into that ‘i’m not going to move for a while’ position.

 

Toriel strode up to the group and smiled in such kindness that Charlotte could only compare to her own mother. “Hello, you two. So glad you could make it. Sans, I’m surprised you didn’t come with Papyrus.”

 

Sans shrugged and slid his eye lights to the side with a smirk. “wanted to make sure charlotte didn’t get lost.”

 

Toriel hummed and nodded. “Of course. Can I get you two a drink? Bar is open,” she was interrupted by Undyne’s enormous burp, “for now.”

 

The lean fish woman was met with giggles and snickers from the lot. “’Scuze me.”

 

“some ginger ale and rye would be great,” Sans admitted. “thanks, tor.”

 

Charlotte pulled a curl out from under her hat. An expression of admiration flickered across Sans’ face; he had noticed it was a nervous tick of hers. “Some tea would be lovely. Do you need any help in the kitchen?”

 

Toriel hummed contently again. “No, I’m just fine. You relax, dear. I’ll get your drinks.”

 

“I brought my tea in my ba--” Asgore added, only to be cut short.

 

“I know,” Toriel snapped, her voice sickeningly sweet when married with a strange bitterness Charlotte had never heard before. She glanced at Sans, but he shook his head very minutely.

 

Once the hostess was gone, Asgore visibly sighed and shifted. He looked desperate to diffuse the tension no one dared mention. “So,” he started again, looking between Charlotte and Sans, “are you two . . . a thing?”

 

The coffee table grew extremely quiet. Undyne and Alphys exchanged glances, Frisk stared at Asgore, and even Papyrus squinted a bit (directly at Sans, of course). Even Toriel seemed to pause in the background while the appliances in the kitchen continued to labour.

 

The only thing Charlotte could think of was _why was everyone waiting like there was going to be bad news?_ She didn’t even bother to look at Sans. He wasn’t going to say it, he wanted her to make the call.

 

_Fine._

 

“Yeah,” she decided, shooting Asgore a strong look that would make anyone squirm. “I guess we are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm?? Hmmm??
> 
> How is that, my friends? 
> 
> aah, I'm just being dramatic. ;)


	11. A Little Stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it weird that this story is approaching Christmas? The first chapter of this was uploaded on Christmas day, too.

Charlotte distinctly remembered seeing Undyne and Alphys blink blankly in unison. It was like a scene from a comedic anime. Papyrus was the first to grin, practically ear-to-ear, and Sans could see the ‘I-told-you-so’ look growing in the younger skeleton’s eyes. Asgore just watched the spectacle unfold, puzzled, as Alphys clapped her hands together and almost squealed. Instead, Undyne threw her arms around her girlfriend’s shoulders as they cried out together in fan-girlish joy, the yellow lizard monster’s eyes watering over her plump smiling cheeks.

 

Sans winced at the noise and rolled his eyes, glancing at Charlotte. The young woman seemed a little startled at the reaction, but smiled happily as Frisk giggled and held up their hands in a heart symbol at the two of them.

 

“I KNEW IT!! I KNEW IT!!” Papyrus exclaimed proudly, his hands on his hips and his pose rather heroic despite still sitting on the carpeted floor. “Didn’t I tell you guys!? I KNEW he liked CHARLIE!!”

 

Alphys seemed to calm down sufficiently to take a steady breath. Without even looking sideways, she extended a small clawed hand up towards Undyne and clenched it twice. “P-pay up.” Papyrus was also looking rather high-and-mighty.

 

The blue fish monster grumbled slightly, though she was still very pleased, and opened her wallet to hand over a coupon to a cosplay costume shop. Frisk audibly sighed and ran upstairs, signing that they had to grab something.

 

Clearly, the four of them had conversations about this relationship before hand. Sans grinned lazily at the remaining three. “what’dya bet on?” he asked curiously. Charlotte nodded in agreement, also eager to find out.

 

Alphys pushed her glasses up her snout slightly, the light reflecting off the orbs. “Huehuehue. P-papyrus and I m-made the prediction that you two w-would be together b-before Christmas. Undyne and F-Frisk bet that th-they would have to g-give you guys a l-little p-push with some mistletoe.”

 

“I still want to do that,” Undyne admitted, downing the last of her drink and running her webbed fingers along her black eyepatch.

 

“Oh, this is s-so exciting!” Alphys cheered, pulling out her phone to tap something out enthusiastically.

 

Charlotte didn’t really know how to respond, but she knew she didn’t mind. It was rather sweet to see them all rooting for them. Asgore looked incredibly confused at first, but he was now back to his book, an amused smile on his face. Toriel returned from the kitchen to hand Sans his drink, taking a moment to beam delightfully at Charlotte.

 

“You two make a wonderful couple! I’m glad to see Sans with someone so sensible,” she chimed, her long-lashed eyes glinting at them both. Charlotte forced her small smile to remain, but in the back of her mind, she wondered if that was true. Sometimes, she felt that she was the more ridiculous and illogical one. When it came down to it, without punny immaturity, Sans was incredibly wise and careful in serious situations, even while having a hot temper. It was something she admired in him.

 

Sans took a small sip from his drink and discreetly slid his hand from the back of the sofa to lightly rest on Charlotte’s opposite shoulder. She jumped, but not noticeably to the others, and eased into the gentle touch. Perhaps he was trying to apologize for all the attention they were getting, but she knew it would happen. They were their friends; they cared for them. They were excited for them. Honestly, it was completely new territory for her. Relationships among her friend group from college before were so . . . nonchalant. Almost indifferent.

 

 _It’s not the same as last time_ , she insisted. _It’s so . . . different._

 

Her current friends were the kind of convenience. There were only humans at her work for the pharmaceutical company. It was familiar and shallow; not the kind of people to share secrets and personal details with. More just jokes and shared complaints. Her monster friends, as sparse as they were, were part of the artist community in town, so they often bounced ideas off one another for feedback. Relatives were distant, she had no siblings, and mom and dad were in another city. This, right here, expanded her life. Being so hyper-focused on her work never made her realize how small her existence had become.

 

Charlotte inhaled through her nose slowly, reaching over her shoulder to scratch her upper back where her tattoo began. New perspectives. Like a dragonfly jolting back and forth. Light, methodical, but unexpected. She looked around her: Papyrus’ innocent smile, Undyne’s big grin, Alphys’ nervous giggle, Asgore’s calm study. Frisk came back from upstairs and handed Papyrus their special eddition of some sort of comic book, a cheerful conversation returning to the circle. Toriel took up an armchair as she waited for the oven, as elegant and loving as always, watching like the mother of the family she was. Charlotte dropped her gaze to her hands as they fiddled with the edge of her comfy sweater. Because of all this, her world got a little bigger. A little stranger. She liked it.

 

And then there was Sans, of course. Charlotte glanced over at her-- _boyfriend_ \--and locked his gaze, raising an eyebrow cheekily. He mirrored the position, and she held back a snigger. A warmth welled in her-- _he is such a weirdo_ , she supposed. His fraying blue jacket, gray sweat pants for the cold walk, the slippers he almost never relinquished, all overtop stocky bones and a wide toothy grin. _But then again, so am I._

 

“Hey,” Charlotte said, very softly, her voice taking a backseat to the strong dialogue between the others.

 

“hay is for horses, doll.”

 

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be an _ass_.”

 

“alright, alright, i’ll stop _foaling_ around.” He paused, gazing at where his hand was connected with her shoulder as he began tracing circles on her back. It was patterned, and deliberate. _Is he . . . drawing?_ She couldn’t make out the meaning through the thick fabric of her sweater. “you doing okay?”

 

Charlotte blinked, her large amber eyes staring quizzically at him, her freckles soft in the warm light. He couldn’t help but blush. “Yeah, I am. Feels natural to be here.”

 

“Hey lovebirds, you’re coming for Christmas, eh?” Undyne asked loudly, making the couple snap back to the conversation at hand.

 

Sans cleared his throat and tried to stifle as much of his blue magic from colouring his white face. “you’ve already seen your parents, right?” he asked Charlotte.

 

She nodded a little sadly. “Yeah, they went to Florida, but I have to work till next Friday, so I couldn’t go with.”

 

“That’s t-too bad,” Alphys returned sympathetically.

 

“DO YOUR PARENTS NOT LIKE SNOW?!?” Papyrus inquired, quite appalled.

 

Charlotte shrugged. “I dunno. They have stressful jobs and will take a vacation anytime they can.” She tilted her head slightly in thought. “They make time to see me, but I think they’re just so happy I can make it on my own.”

 

Toriel looked concerned. “Was there a doubt that you couldn’t?”

 

The artist tensed. “Uh, well--that is--”

 

“doesn’t every parent worry about that?” sans grinned, quick to the rescue.

 

Charlotte pounced at the chance. “Yeah, they’re a little overprotective. Sometimes I struggle to get them off my back. Anyway, what are you guys doing for Christmas? I’d love to be there.”

 

Undyne grinned big and glanced to the side at Toriel. “Our very own goat mama has agreed to host the tree and presents for Christmas morning--”

 

“Assuming you uphold that tradition in your family, of course,” Toriel added, smiling a little awkwardly at Charlotte. It was kind of her to consider the possibility. Though she didn’t say so in so many words, it was fairly obvious that Charlotte was Latina or some similar ethnicity. Then again, appearances can be deceiving. “Additionally,” Toriel continued sweetly, “I hope you will be comfortable with staying over during Christmas Eve. The others are quite excited for a sleepover.”

 

“i wouldn’t say ‘excited’,” Sans remarked, his grin shifting to the side in a smirk.

 

Charlotte turned her head to him and blinked. “You’re going to be here as well?”

 

Papyrus let out a sharp “NYEH”, and Sans shrugged. “family duty. paps needs his bedtime story anyway.”

 

She let out a small pop of a giggle, surprising the others with her amusement. “Alright, I don’t see why not. What about you, Asgore?”

 

The previous king looked up suddenly from his book, startled to be called into the conversation, and then flicked his gaze towards Toriel. In a strange flash, Charlotte could have sworn there was an acidic twinge to the goat woman’s expression. Finally, Asgore cleared his throat to ease the tension. “Well, that all depends. Toriel doesn’t have more than two spare bedrooms, and I don’t want to be an inconvenience. I’ll come bright and early in the morning to make pancakes and sausages though.”

 

Frisk tilted their head to the ceiling and a hand over their heart in a dramatic reverence. _“Real maple syrup?”_ they signed, and Asgore nodded. Charlotte thought the poor thing was going to faint, and Alphys and Undyne snickered together.

 

“Then it’s settled!” Toriel breathed happily, clasping her claws together. “You don’t mind sharing a room with Frisk, do you Charlotte?”

 

The artist shot the young preteen a wry smirk. “I think I can handle it.” Frisk grinned mischievously right back. “Still, there’s a couple weeks before Christmas. Good thing I have an eye for gifts.”

 

Sans tilted his head to the side. “hey, you don’t have to do that.”

 

Charlotte shrugged and gave a shy smile. “No, I don’t have to. But I will. Kinda hard to shop for you guys though . . . to be honest I’m better at putting a person down on a canvas, not finding objects for them.”

 

“W-well, why d-don’t you give us a-art work?” Alphys suggested. She quickly sputtered and flailed a little. “Only i-if you w-want to!! I-It’s just, y-your stuff is s-so good!!!”

 

“THAT’S A GREAT IDEA! I LOVE YOUR ART, CHARLIE,” Papyrus exclaimed. “Can you do one of THE GREAT PAPYRUS and the little HUMAN?!”

 

Frisk scurried around the coffee table and quickly took a dramatic pose beside their tall (still seated) skeleton friend. For a twelve-year-old, they had the silly confidence of either a young child or an outgoing young adult.

 

Charlotte couldn’t help but breathe out an anxious laugh, nodding at their enthusiasm. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something that captures your, eh, essence.”

 

“Should we draw out our souls to make it easier?” Papyrus asked, clearly thinking hard about what Charlotte meant by ‘essence’. Toriel shook her head from side to side in a parent-like love, Alphys laughed very nervously and Undyne watched Charlotte very carefully to gage her reaction. The artist didn’t know too much about souls--just snippets from her past monster friends--but she knew it was rather intimate, in the mental and emotional way.

 

“Um . . .”

 

“she doesn’t need that, paps,” Sans resolved quickly. “she can paint your soul without looking right at it. humans are cool like that, sometimes.”

 

“WOWIE!! That’s super impressive! Can YOU teach ME to do that, CHARLIE?”

 

Asgore chuckled softly. “An artist’s eye is not something learned, my friend.”

 

“Your sculptures are pretty good, though, Pap,” Undyne remarked, hoping it would keep her tall friend from becoming discouraged.

 

“Oh, SHOOT! I forgot that the little human and I were supposed to make snow sculptures outside, and it’s all dark now,” he sighed loudly. “We’ll have to do it NEXT TIME, RIGHT? Maybe Charlie can show us, too!!”

 

Charlotte put her hands up in front of her. “Uh, sculpture’s not really my forte, but I’d love to.”

 

The oven in the kitchen rang out in a cheery chirp, and Toriel lifted out of her chair. “Dinner, anyone?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so all along I had the idea that Charlotte's dad is Latino. So that's a thing.
> 
> By the way, if you want some help visualizing how her skin and freckles look, here's a good example with a Latina woman: https://s2.r29static.com//bin/entry/45a/0,638,2000,1125/x,80/1536639/image.jpg


	12. Short Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes a somewhat abrupt turn, but it leads into something I've been hinting at for some time.
> 
> More angst, fluff, and plot-ish-ness(?) to come.

“your parents came home?” Sans asked, white bony brows high while entwining his phalanges with Charlotte’s left hand, allowing her to use the other to stir the stove pan’s contents and add a bit more salt. It had become a sort of habit of his, finding unexpected and unusual ways to show his affection within the confines of her comfort. His eye lights were always dilated and glowing vibrantly in these moments, but maintained their odd sharp, observant intelligence that contrasted the lazy personality.

 

Charlotte’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as she felt the heat from the pan and turned the stove element down, glancing around her small kitchen for the garlic powder she had placed somewhere on a counter. “Yeah, turns out mom felt kinda guilty about leaving me on my own during Christmas for the third year in a row . . . or maybe she wanted it to be a surprise? I dunno. Regardless, I had to awkwardly explain that I had made other plans with one certain big happy family I had befriended. They said it was fine and agreed to see me over the next week.”

 

Sans counted the days in his head. Eight days till Christmas. As usual he had left the shopping to last minute. “hm. well i can understand why they miss your beautiful face.” She seemed to fidget a bit at the compliment.

 

“Oh, um . . .” Charlotte added, the warble of anxiety setting into her chest and voice, an awkward smile on her lips. The way she flickered her amber eyes towards him, face full of dark freckles and her wild hair out of the restriction of a beanie hat made his soul swell happily. “Sans,” she began, taking a breath while forming the right words. “I--I may have made it slip that I have a . . . boyfriend. Mom’s wonderful, but she’ll micromanage my life in any way she can, and she wants to . . . meet you? If that’s okay? It can be just her, not both of them.”

 

He blinked, then shrugged with a nonchalant laugh. “sure, whatever. though, it’s only been a few weeks since we started seeing each other. kinda weird she wants to step in already.”

 

“Oh that’s because of Nate.”

 

“what?”

 

Charlotte wanted to clap her hands around her face. She almost did. Halting in her movements around the kitchen, she felt Sans’ fingers tighten dangerously in surprise aroung hers. Her eyes were wide as the hot rush of panick passed through her face and down her neck. “Nothing!” she returned a bit loudly, struggling to regain her composure. Charlotte searched for the best way to play out this situation, stopping a dangerous trail of thoughts before they seized her mind in a catastrophic way.

 

Sans narrowed his gaze as he watched the series of emotions flit across his girlfriend’s expression. Suddenly it upturned, trying far too hard to seem pleasant.

 

“It’s just . . . Nate wasn’t the best match. It didn’t last too long between us. Mom’s protective, naturally.”

 

He didn’t wait to reply, nor did his suspicion dissipate. “thought being overprotective was the dad’s job.” Sans wasn’t a jealous person . . . or at least he didn’t like to think he was. Charlotte was competant in almost all situations--he would only help if necessary. No, this wasn’t jealousy, it was hurt. He was hurt that she wouldn’t tell him what was clearly a closely-clutched secret. It was hardly his business, he realized. After all, they weren’t dating for that long . . . but this was just a tease, and not in a good way. Sans decided to gloss it over. “when does your mom want to meet up?”

 

“Ah-ha, that’s the other thing,” Charlotte added, letting the food simmer for a bit and turning to face him completely. She laced their free hands, a bold gesture coming from her, but increasingly more common as their familiarity grew. Her tone of voice was one of very awkward humour, but humour nonetheless. “Coffee, tomorrow at 10, the little shop on the corner?”

 

“sounds good, now what’s on your mind?” Sans returned, trying to cut to the chase.

 

“She wants you alone. Again, I can just tell her no.” Charlotte’s face deadpanned, trying to get all of this over with. Honestly, she was so done with everything her parents were pulling lately, but she felt it was right to at least go through with this one request. It was a mother’s right, she supposed. Still, she found herself embarrassed for both her and Sans, and Sans, well, he was rarely flustered.

 

“nah, it’s cool. no problem. i can handle it,” he mused, trying to make Charlotte feel more as ease. “piece of coffee cake.”

 

“That wasn’t even really a pun,” she sighed.

 

“have i ever told you--”

 

“Don’t.”

 

“--how much you _bean_ to me?”

 

“There it is.”

 

“you’re _brew_ tiful. words cannot _espresso_ \--”

 

“Alright that’s enough out of you, get out~” she laughed, stepping away from his hands to return to her task of dinner, only to be yanked gently back close to him, body inches away from his, her eyes gazing down at him by about an inch or so.

 

Charlotte giggled at the motion, a blush creeping into her cheeks and helping to forget about her nerves. She always loved their height difference, finding it all the more reassuring to be the one to press a kiss down towards him, rather than the other way around. She was fairly short for a human, but not extremely so, and yet it seemed to equalize them, since she was becoming increasingly aware of how incredibly powerful a monster he really was. They were so very different--in espression, in experiences, in soul--but that didn’t matter.

 

“I’ve got the _coffee_ ls for you,” she said, grinning at him wryly.

 

There it was, he loved it when she had that mischievous confidence. “i like you a _latte_ , you know that?”

 

“Really? I had no idea. I thought we were just getting together to knit all this time.”

 

“hey, don’t joke about that, knitting is a glorious art form. just ask papyrus.”

 

 

 

 

 

“So you’re the guy?” the middle aged woman across the small two-seater table breathed calmly, blowing the steam off the top of her black coffee and shooting Sans the most chilling gray-green gaze. She was small and slender-curved like Charlotte, though considerably skinnier, softly freckled and with silver streaks running through her auburn wavy hair. The way she looked at him was almost clinical, judgemental, and cold, and suddenly a lot of things made a whole lot of sense to Sans.

 

A mother with a ‘special’ kid she had to protect and carefully raise, making sure every aspect was perfectly calibrated to the nourishment of her daughter. In short, a hovering helicopter. He wondered what the dad was like to balance out this strong personality.

 

And yet, as the skeleton monster sat opposite to her, casually slumped in his track pants and sweater as usual, he could sense that this was a person of vibrant, fierce love.

 

“that’s me,” he replied smugly, watching her just as carefully and with as much unflappable confidence. Not much could intimidate him anymore, but he was damned if he wasn’t going to at least try to be agreeable with this girl’s mom.

 

Her lips curved upwards slightly for a couple of heartbeats. “She’s always loved the morbidly unusual, but I didn’t think this would happen.”

 

If Sans had nostrils, he would have flared them. “come again?” he said, tone almost dangerous.

 

Mother Alves seemed to catch his slight offense at his wording. “Oh I’ve got nothing against it. Not at all. Just an observation. I’m Olivia, by the way. She probably didn’t tell you my first name, hm?”

 

He shook his head slowly, keeping his toothy half-smirk firmly on his face.

 

Olivia placed her mug down on the surface of the table rather loudly. “Alright, no playing around. We came home to surprise her, which we have, and I love that she’s made more friends, she needs it. She’s sensible enough to make her own decisions and to choose who she spends her time with, or even . . . to show her affection towards. I’m so glad she’s made it this far.”

 

A pause. One breath. Two. Sans could’ve sworn he felt her soul shudder, though her expression remained poised and hardened. He noticed the ever so slight Irish accent on some of her vowels.

 

“She was so sensitive as a child, and she’s finally finding ways to manage her little . . . outbursts. It really gives me joy to see her stable and happy. But relationships have been rough. Ehm, I don’t want to step on her toes. It’s for her to talk to you about when the time comes. But I will say this: if I get any inkly that you step one milimeter out of the lines she has drawn, I will have no hesitation to take action. I only wish this had been the case last time.”

 

“last time?” Sans asked, leaning forward a bit in his seat.

 

“She’s mentioned Nate to you?”

 

There it is. Closer.

 

“yeah, she’s said that name a couple of times. i chose not to press.”

 

Olivia nodded solemnly. “Probably best. The main reason I wanted to meet up with you was less about getting to know you, but to warn you about that. About what will happen if you make the same mistakes he did. But don’t worry, I’ll get to know you soon enough.” She smiled then, and Sans saw a flash of Charlotte’s features in the gesture.

 

“mistakes? what did this nate guy do, exactly?”

 

She visibly and audibly sighed long and loud, tracing her finger along the edge of the mug. That was like Charlotte, too.

 

“He stepped over the line.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't think there will be more that 5 more chapters for this one. I'll see how it rides out.


	13. In the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, I'm back.
> 
> Why was I gone? I was deciding how to finish this. And now I've figured it out, so I'll continue :)
> 
> It's a short chapter, but more will come.

Charlotte always knew when Sans walked into her apartment. Maybe it was a sensation of her soul, or maybe it was the way he shuffled to close her door. She hardly had to look up from her book as she snuggled against her sofa chair to know it was her boyfriend that sauntered up to the opposite seat and plopped down. It was in the late evening now, which was a bit unusual, but she supposed that Sans had some things to do after meeting with Olivia.

 

In truth, he simply had a lot to think about.

 

Usually it was out of exhaustion or laziness that he would drop his bag of bones onto the cushions, but Charlotte glanced up in confusion when she felt a strong mood from him this time around. His movements were almost impatient, and her blood heated a bit with concern.

 

His eye lights were gone. She stared at the empty, dark sockets of his face as he grinned eerily out the window.

 

“W-what’s up? How’d it go with mom?” she dared to ask, voice small with a bit of fear. She knew Sans wouldn’t lay a finger on her, but this was beginning to worry her deeply.

 

Sans didn’t move. He didn’t look at her, he didn’t breathe, he didn’t even drum his fingers against the arms of his chair as he often did. Charlotte’s breathing quickened, and her brow furrowed, throat closing a bit. She could almost _feel_ where this was going.

 

“Sans. You’re freaking me out.”

 

As if she reminded him of where he was, his pupils flickered back to their tiny white glowing orbs, glancing around a bit as though he had fallen asleep. _So lost in thought_ , but she didn’t have the relaxation to suppose it was a little cute.

 

“sorry,” he offered, shifting in his seat. “you’re going to tell me something.”

 

“Am I?” Charlotte said, brows high in surprise at the tone of his voice. It was low, but there was a timbre of insistence that he had never used on her. Almost forceful.

 

“nate.”

 

A rush of panic flushed her face. “What about him?” Charlotte managed, playing with the pages of her book. Her gray cat paced into the living room from behind the bedroom curtain, blinked at the two as they regarded each other in somewhat of a standoff. Charlotte felt her hackles raising, her defences stacking around her as the subject matter continued to progressively distress her.

 

“everything.”

 

“Sans, you’re being mean. There’s nothing you should be concerned about.”

 

“sounds like you don’t trust me.”

 

“I do—I just—it’s not important. It’s stuff that’s in the past. It doesn’t matter to _us_.”

 

“i’m not moving till you tell me.”

 

Charlotte almost scowled, going from uncomfortable to offended. “Remember when I first met everyone? We were on the porch at your place and you said you would tell me about what was bothering you someday. How about now?”

 

“that’s not what this is about,” Sans argued, lifting a bony hand to lean his skull against it, clearly getting settled into his stubbornness.

 

“Sounds like you don’t trust me.”

 

“i’m not moving. you first.”

 

This time Charlotte was visibly angry. Sans didn’t like seeing her pretty face contorted with hurt and frustration, but it only showed that he was getting closer to the source. Trust was necessary in all relationships, and he needed to make sure she was alright with being the first to make herself vulnerable.

 

“Then you’ll be here all night,” she stated simply, lifted out of the chair and moving towards the bedroom. She dropped her book by the floor and brushed past him coldly, parting the bedroom curtain before pausing to turn her head halfway towards him. “Or you can keep warm with me in the bed. Just let it go, Sans.”

 

“i won’t,” he stated firmly, “nor will you. if you had moved past this already, you wouldn’t have an issue with telling me. i want to get this past the both of us, since it seems to affect what we have—”

 

“No, it doesn’t,” she retorted.

 

Sans blinked at her as she lingered at the doorway. “how?”

 

“You’re nothing like him.”


	14. Patience and Justice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Muahaha. Y'all will like this chapter.

Sans awoke to the smell of steam from Charlotte’s bathroom. The warm vapour was laced with her citrine soaps and shampoos, giving him a brief moment to enjoy the scent of his lover as he shifted, the colour of his soul filling his bones with magic. His sockets blinked open, the little white orbs shrinking against the gentle cloud-light from the cold winter sky. Still a bit bleary of mind, he assumed he was under the sheets of Charlotte’s bed as usual, and then realized that it wasn’t her bedroom window. It was the living room window.

 

He had literally stayed all night, just like she had challenged him. Memories of their uncomfortable argument came to the forefront of his attention, and a twinge of regret made his soul hurt. It was almost humiliating; he hated losing his cool. Especially around those he cared for. On the rare occasions that he became obviously irritated with Papyrus, he always felt like the shittiest person ever afterwards. Luckily, Papyrus saw the best in people.

 

Sans wasn’t so sure about Charlotte. She was sensitive about this stuff to begin with, and her trust was so fragile, so he may very well have completely ruined it between them. However, she knew he wasn’t perfect, and she had a strong sense of acceptance and forgiveness. He only hoped it was enough for her to relax around him again.

 

He didn’t notice that the shower had shut off, becoming alarmed enough to sit up suddenly upon hearing the bathroom door crack open. Her softly padded bare feet paced across the other room, and then doubled back to come through the doorway and into the kitchen.

 

Sans sat perfectly still and stared.

 

Charlotte was in nothing but a bath towel, her curly hair flattened by the water and dripping down her bare shoulders. It was a large covering, and she was holding it up by the fold, but the back of it still dipped deeply under her shoulder blades, revealing her beautiful tattoo and a sea of dark freckles. Sans couldn’t help the hot blush creeping into the bone of his face, but he couldn’t bring himself to alert her.

 

She brushed past fast enough not to notice him, making a B-line for the kitchen to fill the glass she was carrying with chilled water from the tap. He watched her swing it back eagerly, her face so calm and relaxed. Here, she was 100% herself. She was safe at home, no eyes on her (as far as she knew), in her creative den of peace and the comfort of a cat. He couldn’t bare to disturb that. It only let his penitence for last night cut even deeper into his being.

 

Charlotte placed the glass on the counter, turned, and Sans nearly felt his soul freeze as she pierced him with her sharp amber gaze. There was a flicker of confused shock at his presence, but after that, just an annoyed eye-roll. “Didn’t think you’d actually stay here all night.”

 

He blinked, and she was tempted to think his dishevelled appearance was rather cute. She was eyeing the curves and lines of his bones, now more exposed since he removed his blue fluffy jacket. She supposed she couldn’t stay mad for that long, but it would linger for a bit more still.

 

“i—”

 

“Woah, don’t start,” she butted in, brows furrowing a bit and holding out a finger for him to wait. “Let me get some clothes on first, thanks.”

 

 _Wouldn’t mind if you didn’t, either,_ was Sans immediate clever thought, but he didn’t dare to voice it. He watched as she went into her room, and after a few minutes of rustling, came back out in a baggy sweater and leggings. He assumed that she was going to talk to him right after that, but she just carried on as if he wasn’t there, perhaps collecting her thoughts, while putting on the kettle and setting a pot for boiled eggs on the stove. He noticed that she put in enough for the two of them.

 

Charlotte took her usual spot across from him, folding her legs under herself and snuggling down into her sweater. It was awkward, just looking at each other, but she seemed determined to make him squirm a bit despite her own irritation. “Go ahead,” she prompted, expecting him to continue where he left off.

 

Sans paused, but pushed forward nonetheless. “sorry.”

 

Her eyebrows rose very slowly. “For what?”

 

“you know.”

 

“Sure do,” she answered cheekily. It was confusing, because her tone was unusually cheery, yet she still seemed rather irate. Sans guessed that she was trying to diffuse the awkwardness, or maybe wallow in it since it was almost her natural habitat. Suddenly her expression turned pensive. “Thank you, by the way. Apology accepted, at the very least.”

 

“really?”

 

“Yeah.” Charlotte hesitated, observing his confused expression. “Well, I mean—” she stopped again, composing her thoughts—“I accept it, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about all this. Most couples fight, I suppose . . . but fighting always resulted in a breakup, in my experience. I don’t want that, Sans. I like you too much for that.”

 

“thank god,” he replied quietly, not really wanting to add more.

 

Charlotte smiled grimly. “Last night, when I went to bed . . . I actually got up and started painting in the middle of the night. I thought you were gone, but you were likely just asleep. You should look at it; it’s in my room.” She gestured for him to go, so he did.

 

Sans almost winced at the sight of the canvas leaned against the easel, anticipating some sort of angry abstract art with flung paint in all directions. Instead he was surprised in a different way. It was incredibly small. That is, compared to her other paintings, at maybe eight inches squared. The background was dark, swirling, nearly space-like, and it bared a similarity to some of her other works. But that’s not what caught his attention.

 

Directly in the middle of the canvas was a ghostly white shape, an upside-down heart. Two star-like dragonflies accompanied it. One was small and yellow, the other, large, bright, and cyan.

 

When Sans reappeared in the living room, his eye lights were gone, and his voice was low. Charlotte was fixing herself tea, but tread lightly at the sight of him being so serious.

 

“Is it that bad?” she asked. “I don’t even remember dreaming, I was just so frustrated and started to paint. It kind of . . . reminded me of you?”

 

“how do you know about souls?”

 

“What?”

 

Sans’ eyes blinked back in. “never mind. it’s super good, doll. whatchya gonna call it?”

 

“You know I don’t really give my paintings names. What do you think I should call it?”

 

“patience and justice,” he returned, without missing a beat. Charlotte raised a brow. _That was strange, he usually isn’t like this._

 

“Then . . . that will be its name,” she decided, taking her seat back and blowing the steam off the top of her tea. Sans rejoined her, thoughts lost and deep in consideration. How Charlotte could suddenly create something that looked exactly like something she had no business of knowing was bewildering, but the explanation was likely magic-related. Maybe there was more to this ‘artists eye’ than met the . . . eye. _Heh._

               

Charlotte took a heated sip and deemed it too hot to handle for now. “You going to talk, or what?”

 

“hm? oh, sure.”

 

Her gaze flicked from his face to her tea, twice, before her nailed clicked against the edge of the mug in discomfort. “Look, I know you’re curious, but we don’t have to be so transparent with each other so soon. I _will_ tell you about Nate, when _I_ think the time is right. And I hope you someday trust me with some of your . . . stuff.”

 

“i’ll tell you right now,” he resolved, feeling brave thanks to her strange painting.

 

“Wha—Sans, you don’t have to do that!” she almost exclaimed, worried he was going too far just for the sake of it. “This stuff is delicate, you can’t just dive in.”

 

“i’m not. i want to tell you.”

 

“You don’t owe me anything.”

 

“no, but that doesn’t matter. i want to talk about it, and a chance when i feel like it doesn’t come by often. consider it a thank you for forgiving me.”

 

“O-Okay . . .” she muttered, eyes wide and attentive, ready for anything. No matter what she heard, she had to be receptive and accepting. She could tell he would need her to be. She settled in further to her sofa chair. “I’m ready.”

 

He grinned ironically at that. “no you aren’t, doll.”

 

 

 

_“Long ago, two races ruled over Earth:  . . . “_

 

 

 

The pot on the stove boiled, the lid clicking as the swift steam pushed between the gap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shocked expression* 
> 
> Some . . . some lore, mayhaps?!?
> 
> Astonishing, I know. This is becoming a more expanding universe than I expected, but don't expect enormous things either. ;)


	15. Some of the Cards are Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My life is back in order again! Yay. Although, now I'm sick ;) Fate is a fickle mistress.

By the time Charlotte finally attended to the stove, she couldn’t really feel her legs. Sure, she knew they were working, and she knew they were under her, but other than the evidence of standing, they could be gone, and she wouldn’t be surprised. Turning the element dial down, she had forgotten what she was doing with the pot in the first place but didn’t really acknowledge it. A hand found purchase on the edge of the counter as she absently tapped the metal handle on the pot lid with the opposite fingers.

 

Sans was staring out the window, eye lights gone and teeth in a hard grimace; he couldn’t bare to look at her reaction. Halfway through his tale, Charlotte had risen from her seat and paced around a bit, a method she often used to diffuse an emotionally stressful situation. It was as if she was avoiding the energy that Sans was relaying because of the story: a heated dry wind of dread and doom. As dramatic as it seemed, she had remained pacing for a time, then halted to rock back and forth on her feet in thought, eyes still cast to the floor and arms wrapped around her middle.

 

Once Sans had finished, she went to the stove. It was so quiet that they could hear the faucet drip a couple times and the light clicking of her nails hitting the pot lid.

 

Both breathed in to start, but Charlotte was quick to insist her words onwards.

 

“look, i—”

 

“How many times?”

 

Sans paused, slowly turning his head in her direction as his eye lights flitted back in, the bones of his brow knitted. “wha?”

 

“How many times,” she began again, careful with her words and still avoiding the sight of him, “did you have to live through that hell?”

 

“time is relative,” he let out a short sip of air. “i . . . i have no idea.”

 

Charlotte took a long, lingering inhale through the nose, lifting her head up to stare at the ceiling. He could see the profile of her face now, confused by her expression: she almost seemed _too calm_ , like it didn’t bother her, but there were hints of the contrary. A pinch of panic and sorrow, and then, hardly a whisper.

 

“ _Oh my god._ ”

 

Lifting to get out of his seat, Sans halted as he watched Charlotte storm into her room, casting the curtain powerfully as she forced her way in. He heard her sit at her easel and the noise of her brushes and palette, quickly strutting in to follow. Her tiny painting from the night before was placed on the bed, already dry, and she set to work on a fresh canvas, a fair bit larger.

 

Sans moved over to the bed slowly, eyes constant on his lover as she began broad, quick brushstrokes with dark pigment. He picked up the small painting and clutched it in his hard, bony phalanges, carefully considering each outline and shape. It was so warm and cold, rough and course but smooth and soft . . . a perfect oxymoron. Two sides of the same coin. _Patience and Justice_.

 

“you saw my soul,” he muttered, mesmerized by the artwork.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

Sans blinked back to reality. “you . . . the painting. it’s my soul.”

 

Charlotte slowed, reaching to the shelf of the easel and carefully leaving her brush there. She pivoted her body in her stool to face him, lying her palette on the floor by her feet. Her amber eyes were burning, but not in anger. Curiosity. A sense of _something else._

 

“I don’t understand,” she said. “You tell me this . . . story about Frisk and the others, about timelines and torturous cycles, failed experiments, cold-blooded murder, souls and magic and honestly, Sans, I believe you, I’ll always believe you, but this is a lot and I’m not sure I’ll be able to grasp everything and—”

 

“’lottie, you’re rambling,” Sans butted in, concerned that she couldn’t breathe.

 

She almost gasped, then shook her head. “Right, sorry.”

 

“you saw my soul . . . can you do that with everyone?”

 

“What, see colours? Yeah, if I know them enough.”

 

“It’s like when you can’t draw faces until you spend time with the person . . .” he observed thoughtfully.

 

She nodded. “Mhm. Sort of. This is different, though. You’re one of very few. Mom, Dad, a few of my old friends, Frisk, and you.”

 

“frisk?”

 

“Theirs is very . . . strong. Very red. It was hard not to notice.”

 

Sans sighed, lightly tossing the small painting back onto the bed. “not all humans can see that, you know. even frisk could never see them unless a monster dusted . . . not including their own soul, of course.”

 

“You talked about drawing a soul out of the body. Is that just a human thing, or?”

 

“no, you can do it to us too. ever done it before?”

 

“No. How could I?” she scoffed.

 

“if you can see it, you probably can draw it out. humans are cool that way.”

 

“I don’t know what mine looks like,” Charlotte added, thoughtful. “Is that weird?”

 

“no.” Sans was careful not to keep talking. He wanted to show her, but that would be overstepping. Souls were personal. Surely, she knew that.

 

“Can I see yours? Out in the open, I mean?”

 

 _Okay, maybe she doesn’t_ , he thought. Sans grinned at her grimly. “at least buy me dinner first, doll.”

 

Charlotte flushed violently. “S-sorry. I didn’t—think,” she gulped.

 

“it’s fine, don’t _sweat it,”_ he replied, noticing how she clenched her hands as they became clammy.

 

She cracked a smile at that, putting them both at ease for the first time in a little while. Charlotte stood, lingered a bit while giving him a look, and then slowly wrapped her arms around his fluffy sweater-covered shoulders. “I don’t know how to tell you how sorry I am about what happened to you,” she sighed into his spine.

 

As soon as her voice slid towards him, he reflexively grasped at her waist and inhaled the air around her. “don’t worry about me,” he told her.

 

She laughed quietly, thick with irony. “Please. I’ll always worry. Not too much, but it is kind of the point of loving you.”

 

_Loving you._

 

Sans decided to let that one slide. “i’ll show you later,” he promised. “once all the cards are out, we can play.”

 

Charlotte blushed heavily again, unsure of what _that_ exactly meant, but she certainly didn’t feel threatened. Sans was giving her that _look_ , the look he got when he was unusually happy and relaxed but insisted on not really showing it.

 

For now, things were okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you like where this is going. And of course you can always give me your thoughts on some fun stuff you'd like added! We are nearing the end as we watch this relationship slowly solidify.


End file.
